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The unexpected visage of Vermouth suddenly surfaced in the specter’s mind. It wasn’t the wizard from his concocted memories but rather the wizard he had witnessed firsthand in the Temple of Destruction.
The Hero, the God of War, the Master-of-All, the Great Vermouth.
He had been so haggard and worn, far from the grand titles, chained alone in multitudes as he sat in solitude.
The exact location where Vermouth sat remained unclear. Even as the Incarnation of Destruction, the specter could only speculate about Vermouth's whereabouts. It was a place connected to the Temple of Destruction, perhaps where the Demon King of Destruction was sealed.
The place had immense marks, those perhaps resembling scars or sword slashes. Although Vermouth sat right atop those marks, pinpointing the location by such traces proved challenging.
The specter questioned the nature of those traces a few times, but he never contemplated too deeply. He knew that mere pondering would not unveil any answers, and he believed Vermouth himself would never desire to be found.
'He wouldn't want what I'm seeking.'
Perhaps it would have been different for Hamel, or so the specter had thought. However, he quickly dismissed his wandering thoughts. Instead, he pondered what he could do and searched endlessly.
Who would have thought that here, in this manner, the answer to the dormant question would be found?
'Sword,' the specter realized.
The answer came to him as the first thought he had upon seeing it in person. The markings had been scars left by a sword, the traces of the swing of...
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