There was a stench of death in the air. A stench so dreadful that it drove the sense of smell crazy and so fishy that it burned the chest, eroding the air.
The grasslands were covered with burnt corpses of soldiers, all gasping in agony. When the wind blew, the hot air that was left over from the battlefield spread all around.
“Are you going?”
“Yeah…”
In a scene filled with mute wreckage, the person answered the silver purple girl.
There is no way to see the expression on the face of the person who picked up the remnants of the flag that had fallen to the ground.
The person’s face was covered by a mask.
“This is just the beginning.”
The voice with no inflection suggested that it was a man. But whether he was sad or laughing, it was impossible to sense any joy, anger, or sorrow.
In the ruins of a battlefield filled with death and hatred, the masked man turns his head around to look around.