(The author wrote it blindly, please don't spray it if you don't like it) The blue starlight illuminated the night in the border forest. The young Simmel leaned under the old oak tree, and his fingertips rubbed the worn rose pattern on the scabbard. The crackling of the bonfire reflected his angular profile, and the broken hair on his forehead was blown by the wind, revealing a pair of eyes that were hotter than the stars. He had just finished his three-year training, and the iron sword on his back was still warm from the forging. The leather bag on his waist only contained a piece of linen cloth left by his mother, half a bag of hard wheat cakes, and a yellowed map that his father had given him before he died. The red dot marked "Demon King's City" was at the end of the map, like a disaster star waiting to be extinguished.
