In that moonlit dusk, the sword in his hand lost the sharpness it once had, and his slashing was so slow. The sword skills he had long understood and the movements that had penetrated his bones were all turned into random attacks. Love and hate turned into iron chains and buried the sword in the moonlight.
On that cold moonlit night, her cooling body collapsed in his arms. Only the wind is left telling the story of the past that cannot be captured.
The bloody hands can no longer pick up the sword. Instead of the dead wish, the sword shining like fire is sealed in the scabbard...
He held her bow tightly and made a promise under the desolate moon.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
