The flying blue sleeves of the dancing girl fluttered in the palace hall, and the noisy sound of musical instruments covered up the rumble of bloody war drums outside the palace.
The young monarch sat lazily on the high throne. He looked down upon the sweaty ministers below. His eyes were blurred, and no one knew what he was thinking.
The royal city is about to be conquered, and the mountains and rivers are about to fall into eternal night.
Is he here to destroy the country, or can he create miracles at the critical moment?
Blood, fighting, hatred, love, in the end, what can you hold in your hands?