The putrid swamp mist wrapped around Roland's throat like a living thing. On the third hour after he hid in the hole of a dead tree, the alchemy joint of his left arm suddenly made a "click" sound like a gear being stuck. "What the hell..." His bronze-green fingertips dug into the trunk of the tree, and rotten sawdust fell. The barking of the hounds of the Alchemy Association in the distance suddenly stopped, and was replaced by the "sizzling" sound of liquid dripping on the soldering iron - the olfactory glands of those animals had been transplanted with dragon blood detectors.
