Nearly summer, the sunlight was fierce.
The traces left by the torrential rain that poured all night vanished by midday, melted away under the sunlight.
Only occasionally, a tile blown off the street by fierce winds, and the grass huts collapsed by rainwater on the roadside, faintly displayed the fierce scene of last night.
A silver-white robin gently fluttered its wings, flying over a densely populated but dilapidated housing area, revealing behind it a chaotic graveyard standing with countless tombstones.
"Achoo!"
The half orc suddenly sneezed, rubbed his goosebump-covered arm, with a hint of complaint in his tone.
"Is this the place? You guys don't usually maintain it?"
In his previous life, people often felt a "chilling atmosphere" in graveyards mainly because graveyards were typically built in open, remote areas with little vegetation and no tall buildings, allowing cold air to flow unimpeded, coupled with psychological factors in such unique environments.
