The person had a muscular physique and was wearing a white robe. His brown hair was tied in a bun, and he was looking down at him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized immediately.

He then turned to look for his group members. But before he was able to leave, someone grabbed his wrist. Lixon flinched and looked back. The one holding it was the masked man.

"Excuse me, sir, but can you let go?"

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He tried to pull it, but the hands whose grabbing him was more substantial than he imagined.

"Who are you?"

Lixon heard the muffled voice of the man.

"Huh?"

'Why the hell are you grabbing me if you don't know who I am?'

He wanted to complain. But the man's following words almost froze the young man on the spot.

"You are not from here, are you?"

But considering that he is indeed not from the Fragrance City, Lixon recovered right away and answered, "That's right, I'm just a traveler."

The young man heard the masked man chuckled and felt that he tightened his hold of his wrist.

"You. Are. Not. From. Here. Are. You?" he repeated the praise, emphasizing every word. He was telling him that he was not referring to his answer.