His hands were stained with the blood of thousands or tens of thousands of people. In front of him was a black ocean decorated with various weapons, and the only thing traveling with him was his back swaying in the sunset.
The dusty star has risen, and the shepherd looks up at the gorgeous sky and murmurs: "The sheep will eventually return..."
Deep in the boundless forest, the blank pages are constantly being written with clumsy handwriting.
The gray elegy of the soul curls up in the deepest part of the dark abyss...
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
