Chapter 430

Pity this Andrew? Damarion himself was the most pitiful of all. What right did he have to pity anyone else? No longer wanting to bask in the sun, Damarion got up and ignored Andrew. He picked some edible fruits and grabbed a fishing rod he had made himself. Then, he headed to a small pond to fish. It didn't matter if he caught anything. He was just killing time. Andrew watched Damarion from a distance. He had some dried food and water—enough to survive by nibbling bit by bit. If Damarion wouldn't go with him, he would wait until death if he had to. Night fell, and the temperature dropped rapidly. Andrew put on the cotton-padded jacket he had brought, but the cold seeped in like invisible threads, piercing through his body. Traveling light meant he hadn't brought heavy gear. There was no tent or shelter. Even with two cotton-padded jackets on, his lips were turning purple from the freezing cold. With him injured and poisoned by the miasma, his body weakened the longer he stayed.