At this moment, Gehrman Sparrow turned his head and looked to the other side.
Deep in the shadowy long street, a figure walked over. He was wearing a straw hat and a towel hanging around his neck. He was bending down to pull something.
As the figure got closer, the outline of the things behind him gradually became outlined.
It was a small black car with two wheels. It had a roof to protect it from the scorching sun and rain.
Sitting on the cart is a lady holding a round fan painted with flowers and birds and wearing a long skirt with a waist.
Both she and the driver were obscured by the thicker fog, making it impossible to see clearly.
When they passed by Gehrman Sparrow, the latter barely saw a few details through the fog.
The face of the man who was bending over to pull the cart was rotten to the bone, with yellowish pus flowing out. The woman’s skin was swollen to the point of being shiny and studded with numerous blue and black patches in the areas that were not covered by flowers, birds, fans, clothing and jewelry.
With a ding, a bell rang, and a blue train with only two carriages sped out in front of Gehrman Sparrow.
It was only then that Gehrman Sparrow discovered that the street was paved with iron-black tracks, with long lines corresponding to them.
A slightly complicated metal bracket protruded from the top of the train’s front, sliding on the long wires.
Through the train’s glass window, Gehrman Sparrow saw the passengers inside.
They all faced the street, but only their heads were left, and each head dragged a bloody spine.
Gehrman Sparrow’s pupils were slightly dilated and he watched this scene quietly without moving for a long time.
Nearly a minute passed, and he took a step forward, trying to enter the blurry street shrouded in gray mist.
However, the fog blocked him, and no matter what method he used, he could not get through.
A quarter of an hour later, Gehrman Sparrow stopped trying, closed the wooden door, and eliminated the fog. Then, he dragged the wooden door and “teleported” directly to the pirate ship, without any worry about encountering a curse.
He then stood the wooden door on the deck, stretched out his left palm again, and held the door handle.
Suddenly, there was a clicking sound from Gehrman Sparrow’s neck, and his head seemed to be lifted up by invisible hands, dragging out his bloody spine.
Gehrman Sparrow showed no change in expression. He raised his right hand indifferently and pressed the top of his head hard, pushing his head back to its original position.
Then, he turned the handle as if he was not affected, pushed open the wooden door again, and let it lean against the side of the ship.
But this time, there was no gray mist, and no shadowy streets, houses, or trains standing out. It could be said that there was nothing unusual about it.
The next second, the wooden door rotted rapidly and turned into a puddle of mud, as if it was escaping the fate of being experimented.
Gehrman S