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Nod, nod.
An old man was dozing off with his fishing rod in his hands. The shoulders that once bore the grand title of Sword Demon had significantly narrowed. Sitting in a chair with his back bent made him look even smaller.
Ferzen still fought with his sword in his hands. But how much longer could he continue? His eyesight was failing; in a year or two, he probably would become completely blind. Even a little exertion was leaving him gasping for air, and his sword felt heavier every time he held it. On top of that, wearing and removing armor left sores with pus on the skin under the pressure points of the armor.
Blink.
Ferzen opened his eyes. His vision was still blurry. No matter how much he rubbed his eyes, the murkiness that covered his vision didn’t clear.
‘I don’t have too much time left.'
His life as a warrior was coming to an end, but how much longer would Ferzen the human live?
'Ten years? Twenty?'
He was seized with fear. He lived the rest of his life as an old man in the backroom.
'How ugly.'
He longed for his youth. From a fledgling knight, he had surpassed numerous battlefields. How many comrades had he lost, and how many enemies had he killed to make a hill out of their corpses? The countless tales that had shaped the legendary Sword Demon Ferzen swept through his memories.
"Lou, you are cursing me....
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