The pure white boy swung his sword and cut off all the thorns blocking the road.
[The sword that has been sealed for a long time is covered with rust, and its once bright appearance is eroded by darkness.
As a clear flute played, he turned around, and the shepherds on the hillside waved goodbye to him in the setting sun.
[Whose memory has long been blurred, and who will embark on the journey again.
The blood from the broken heart flowed down the long sword. The man frowned in pain, and then smiled again.
[Taking one hundred thousand years as an opportunity, let me tell a story.
The boy in front of him was covered with vines and turned into a perfect cold statue.
["A long time ago, there was a boy with black hair..."]
——Wedge