"Life is a journey, I don't know who said it, but he was right - we are constantly changing the coordinates of where we are, from the nominal to the practical, to the spiritual: titles, identities, residences, lives, ideas...... And at the end of the day, we always find a place for ourselves, don't we? But that's not the point of the journey - it's what we're doing.

What are we living for?

If you don't understand this, you can spend a lifetime just like the walking dead, just like many people who embark on a journey and don't really understand what they will encounter and what awaits them at the end.

We are not pure animals, God has given us the right to think, no matter where we are, living in real or illusory, even in a different world through time and space, we can find the meaning and value of existence for ourselves, and find the goal we can pursue. No animal can do this, because it is a privilege that belongs only to "people".

In my previous life, I had heard a lot of "truths" of "cruel reality" -- you have to give up as much as you want, if you want to defeat monsters, you have to turn yourself into monsters, and if you want to abandon emotions and hearts, you can become strong......

I used to believe it to be true, and I really took it as "truth."

trampling on principles, destroying humanity, destroying spirits, and treating emotions as nothing...... That kind of thing can be called powerful? Maybe, maybe they really think they're strong -- I've sacrificed so much, I've given up so much. Shouldn't there be a reward?

Nonsense.

This so-called powerful. It's nothing but based on compassion, sympathy, tolerance, humanity...... Take madness and crossing the line for granted. To regard the creed and tolerance of others as weakness and incompetence, to wantonly destroy the trust between people that their ancestors have built up over thousands of years, and to feel that they are the one who is miserable, that they are the one who is being abused, that they are only doing something out of rebellion, that there is a limit to disgusting people.

If you can afford it, you can put it down -- because of persistence. With dreams and goals that they must pursue and obtain, they will become strong and invincible. Your madness is because you're at a loss, you're ambitious, but you're insecure, you don't have a sense of existence.

Asrael, you are a mad dog, a mad dog in a cage called "Another World" - conquer the world. Dominate the world and have untold amounts of money. Majestic palaces, slaves who are loyal to you, and more women who are obedient to you...... You know why?

Because you are envious, it is like a beggar who sees the emperor and dreams that one day he will become the emperor himself.

Even if you succeed, you will not have the ambition and goals of the emperor, nor will you have the courage and vision of the emperor - you will only satisfy your own empty vanity and vulgar desires.

Sitting on the deserted street in the bitter cold wind, looking at the golden palace in the distance and listening to the sheng songs, holding the leftover black bread in his hand, staring at the beggar with wide eyes and smirking and drooling - Asrael, that person is you. ”

The black-haired knight muttered to himself, standing beside an inconspicuous dirt pit under a hill, messy with weapons, banners, and bones, and not far away the roars of warriors could be heard, and the fleeing Wolf Clan warriors were chased by the Turin soldiers, echoing through the canyon with hideous laughter and screams over and over again.

The battle was over - but not for the Turinees, who continued to kill until they had poured out all their hatred and desire to kill.

The messy corpses were almost piled up into a hill, and the severed limbs and severed heads seemed to have been deliberately piled up, and the mere glance at these "parts" was disgusting. The stinking blood flowed under his feet, almost soaking his boots, but the black-haired knight standing there still didn't care, his dark pupils were like a mirror, and the figure reflected in it seemed to be himself.

Asriel lay there, one leg lay flat and the other curled up, his head tilted to his side, covered in dark red plasma, his black hair crooked and damp from the coagulated blood. The left eye was left with a bloody hole like rotten flesh, and the only intact right eye fell out of the socket and hung on the cheek, the smashed jawbone weakly supported by the skin of the face.

Had it not been for the reluctant gasps he could hear, Edward would have almost thought he was dead—a rag-like wheezing sound, every time he did his best.

The answer from the previously captured captives - they were attacked by several defeated war tribes during their retreat, and these people seemed to be intent on digging up the secret of domesticating blood wolves from Asriel's mouth, and then ...... When Edward came, he had already become what he had seen.

Edward, who was muttering to himself, suddenly laughed: "Hehehe...... Why are you talking to you about this? probably...... Is it because I can't bear it, or because I saw my former self?"

"Yes, at least you guessed it, Asriel - we were from the same place, we were the same people, we were all like mad dogs, locked in an iron cage called 'Otherworld', dazed and crazy. ”

"The only difference is that I know the meaning of my existence, or I find my purpose, and you ...... You don't, even now, you don't know, and you take that blankness and nothingness as proof of your strength, and the idea of satisfying your empty heart and desires as your motivation to move forward. ”

"I'm not here to make a declaration of victory - I'm here to witness my own death, and to fulfill my promise to prepare a stone tablet for you. Edward looked at him and said calmly, "The most powerful king of the Vast Lands in three hundred years, Asriel—you will be buried here." ”

"There used to be a saying, or you may know, that people who have traveled to another world will return to the place where they once lived after death, and everything they have experienced here will become a dream, a long, long dream. The black-haired knight said in a deep voice, with a slight tremor in his voice: "When you get back over there, I think you know what I want you to do the most." ”

The black-haired young man's body was spasming, and he actually stiffened his cervical vertebrae, nodded, and his whole body was trembling and shaking violently.

There was no waiting, no stagnancy - the black-haired knight who raised the star slammed down, slashing the head off its body, rolling on the ground like a leather ball, and stopping next to a certain stone. The body, which was still twitching violently just now, immediately quieted down and stopped moving.

Staring at the still warm bones, Edward slowly turned around and picked up Asreel's head—it would be evidence of the demise of the entire Blue Wolf Clan, and for the entire Left Legion, for the little prince Anson, this was the most glorious trophy to show off his exploits and glory.

It sounds so ironic that the head of a boy who was once an enemy, who had almost ruled the whole of the land, a boy who was only a year or two older than the little prince, had in the end become an ornament indistinguishable from an antique, and perhaps in a thousand years would be forgotten, in the midst of a stinking ditch, to be eaten by rats and snakes.

It's not fate, it has nothing to do with the so-called "gods" - it's a gamble, he loses, he wins, that's all.

Good or evil, light or dark - it doesn't matter what it is, how much glossy the cloak is on, the dirty is still dirty, the cruel is still cruel, no one can change anything, and no one wants to make that change.

"Only a little ......"

Lifting Asrael's head, Edward rolled over his horse, still talking to himself.

"I'm not going to die!" (To be continued.) )