The night was as dark as ink.
Perhaps it was because of the strong wind, but the lights that once illuminated the entire night sky of the Royal Capital seemed dimmed tonight.
Most people chose to avoid this night, having dinner at home early and preparing to rest.
Yet there was still a considerable number of people gathering in bars and theaters, waiting for a night of typhoon impacts.
By eight o'clock, the wind was howling through every street and alley.
South District.
At the edge of the Martinos Clan's territory.
Inside a bar that had been turned into a temporary command center.
Trafford kept looking at the pocket watch in his hand.
He was waiting for the perfect moment.
According to the Royal Capital Meteorological Department, around eight-thirty tonight, the typhoon would reach its strongest winds.
That would be the best time to strike.
