Asmodeus’s eyes trembled slightly, as if Ewen’s words had touched a fragile spot deep within her heart. She hesitated whether to end it all completely, even though it seed terribly embarrassing. But Ewen refrained from continuing; he watched himself for a long ti and then looked towards Bologue and the others.
Ewen had spent too much ti on Asmodeus. At least in these final monts, he hoped to be with his friends.
Aimou and Palr sat against the wall on the ground, while Bologue stubbornly leaned on his sword, refusing to fall no matter what. Seeing his stubborn deanor, Ewen sighed.
"I still find it hard to believe."
"What can’t you believe?" Bologue asked, "The miracle at hand?"
This was a genuine miracle—a standoff between humans and the Devil, a crossover of story and reality. Even for the Undead, in their long years, such events seed extrely precious.
"No... I can’t believe we have only known each other for a few days," Ewen’s gaze swept over their faces, deeply imprinting their images in his mind, "It feels like we’ve journeyed together for a lifeti."
The ti they experienced was so brief, yet the mories seed so long. Ewen had always been a solitary person, often thinking he would die alone. This imnse Daisy Castle had few places free of dust, except for the large library. Ewen never expected such a conclusion awaited him.
Ewen was never shy about showing his emotions; his words were filled with sincerity. Thinking of this, he began to reminisce about the girl nad Cinderella, hoping that one day in the future, Asmodeus might reappear in this world as her. But by then, who knows if she would still rember him.
Oh, and then there is his Muse.
Ewen felt a warmth, originating from his heart, from deep within his soul. At that profound end, there was an altar he had built with his own hands, enshrining an idol made of nurous mories and fantasies.
At this mont, Ewen felt that all his value had been realized, his body and soul elevated to a higher plane, for which he softly said to himself.
"This is a cruel and tumultuous world, where everyone is running tirelessly for their desires, no longer caring about romance, let alone poetry.
It’s okay, I still exist, and I will be the last defender..."
The lodious sound of a steam whistle ca from the battlefield. The Hunters had finished clearing the field, piling up corpses in groups, dousing them with fuel and igniting them. One bonfire after another was raised on the battlefield, looking like a sea of flowers spreading across the land when viewed vaguely.
Transporting the wounded, repairing damaged carriages, and after a simple preparation, the Hunters successfully cleaned the blood and flesh stuck to the wheels. They appeared hurried, as if ready to leave and head to the next battlefield of slaughter.
They were like a group of night hunters, never stopping for a mont.
"Friends, what does poetry an to you?"
Ewen asked everyone, including Asmodeus, but he didn’t expect them to answer, as Ewen had already found his own answer, which wasn’t applicable to everyone. They needed to pursue it themselves. Then Ewen looked at Bologue and made a final request of him.
"You know, Bologue, I’ve never really liked you."
Ewen struggled to stand up, his figure swaying. When Ewen finally stood upright, Bologue realized how bad Ewen’s condition was. The wound on his abdon had sohow expanded several tis, with the blood inside seemingly drained, even the internal organs appeared to be gone, leaving only dark red flesh and faintly visible bones.
Narrative is not without cost, and this power had been consuming Ewen’s Life Force. He stumbled towards Bologue, then reached out both hands, with fingernails already vanished, leaving only a bloody ss.
Ewen placed his hands on Bologue’s shoulders and slowly moved them, holding Bologue’s face. The sticky blood and flesh clung to his face, but Bologue felt no disgust. Ewen forced him to look at him.
"Yes, I even sowhat dislike you. Without these experiences, I would never make friends with soone like you."
Ewen organized his words, "You’re great in many ways, except you’re too rigid and cold. I don’t see a trace of romance in you... I can’t bear that."
Bologue smiled helplessly; at a ti like this, Ewen was still complaining about such matters.
"Bologue, you should beco more humorous and romantic. You’ll understand many truths, encounter many interesting things... Many things you’ve never seen, you might fall in love with soone, or be loved by soone. All of this would make your long life incredibly exciting."
Bologue replied sadly, "Your life is a ss, and now you’re lecturing about it?"
Ewen laughed heartily, with blood in his teeth, and then began to cough violently, as if about to lose his footing. Bologue quickly caught his arms, preventing him from falling.
"Bologue, you’re a good guy. If you could be more romantic, I think you would be a wonderful Poet."
Ewen pleaded, "Then, Poet, help , one last ti, please help ."
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