"What are you doing here?" The woman's tone was almost questioning in a superior manner, tinged with a hint of disdainful inquiry that showed she knew Merka inside out. It made Merka realize that this might be a supremely esteemed figure comparable to Pope Maria.

"Um..."

"Are you... the Duke George?"

Merka straightened up to look at the body of the motorbike, tentatively asking.

"It is I."

The Duke George replied to Merka with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

She was dressed head to toe in luxurious fur, which might seem a bit improper at first glance, even akin to a nouveau riche style. But on closer inspection, you would notice that the cold aura and disdainful expression she exuded completely overshadowed the superficial nobility of her fur, making her appear domineering and unrestrained.

Merka keenly sensed that the person before her was on the complete opposite of the spectrum from someone like the seemingly aloof but passionate woman from Dunkirk — no matter what her outward demeanor displayed, her heart was made of solid steel.

"I got separated from my companions and seemed to have lost my way in this heavy fog..."

"How did you end up here? Shouldn't you be with the majority of Montecristo's forces?"

Merka wanted to ask more but found Duke George walking into the club without looking back.

"Um... has she also lost her way?"

"But even if lost, one could at least fly up through the mist and temporarily escape Polis City, right? It's too dangerous to stay shrouded in fog all the time..."

Upon hearing Merka's words, a shadow suddenly appeared in the mist, startling Merka.

"No, Beelzebub's main body and London are already hiding outside Polis City."

"I read London's memories through the mechanical method in London's hands. If anyone tries to fly out of Polis City, they will surely use magic to annihilate them."

"Although many splits have been sent out, Beelzebub has that kind of power."

The shadow crossed its arms, looking thoughtful as it watched Duke George walk away.

"...Sigh! Are they thinking so meticulously? Truly deserving of Oedipus."

Merka sighed in annoyance.

"Don't let others' prestige overshadow your own aspirations."

"That girl named George seems to want you to follow her, so you better hurry."

With that, the shadow disappeared from Merka's view.

"Damn it... I'm just not good at dealing with these feudal lord-type women."

After murmuring to herself for a while, Merka followed Duke George's footsteps, taking three steps and then two.

Entering the lobby of the club, passing through corridors adorned with sweet and seductive paintings, Merka noticed that compared to the dilapidated rubble of broken houses, the club's structure was relatively intact.

Most of the rooms here were undamaged, with almost all the doors tightly shut, performing their duty of sealing off the spaces inside.

After walking for a while, Merka arrived at a large door that appeared to have been kicked in. It emitted a faint light from within, adding a touch of vitality in this apocalyptic atmosphere.

After hesitating for a moment, Merka walked in, and the fog seemed to fade away at the doorway, as if intimidated by the presence in the room.

Inside, Duke George was holding a bowl of water, feeding it to a man with delicate features and a dignified figure, exuding an aura of elegance in every move.

He was pale, his complexion sallow, as if severely ill.

"This is my man."

"On the way, he accidentally ingested the gene toxin of those angels... My magic won't be able to cure him for the time being."

"If I were to drag him around like a headless fly outside looking for a way, it would only worsen his condition. So, we are resting here temporarily, waiting for help."

"Your man?"

Merka's face turned ashen as she couldn't help but scoff internally.

This must be a lover; I distinctly remember that the true Montecristo tribal chief's husband does not look like this.