A strong hatred burned lonely in his heart, Jiaozi Niu held his chest, not knowing where this hatred came from but was all too aware—it was directed at the Tailor.
The Poet's song was long, and Caramel Snail listened quietly, sunlight falling on his shoulders, his face hidden in shadows, his hands already clenched into fists.
His originally clear brown eyes gradually lit up with green as the song's soft tune played, a vivid green invaded his irises, and Caramel Snail's demeanor grew increasingly profound.
At this moment, he was like gunpowder, ready to explode with a spark.
"The white of peace is the Saintess' shroud, in that forgotten future, no one will remember the warrior's demise..."
The Poet gently pressed the strings of his instrument, letting out the last note, and then removed his hat to salute the other.
"Thank you very much for listening, Descender sir."
"Good song."
