...
It's late at night.
Sir Dickbin walked out of the cave that seemed like Hell and returned to the camp of Laine Camp.
A victory celebration banquet was being held in the camp, but he had little interest in joining and returned alone to his tent, lighting a candle.
The weather was getting colder, and winter was about to arrive.
He picked up a stool and sat down, opening the diary he carried with him under the flickering light of the candle on the candlestick.
After thinking for a long time, Sir Dickbin began to write.
The tip of the feather pen scraped across the dry paper, marking the end of this war that lasted more than three months.
[After witnessing the Hell in the Blood and Flesh Royal Court, I finally understand that the suffering of the Ryan people is not due to the punishment of the Gods, but precisely because all hope has been placed beyond themselves.]
[It's not just that there is no savior.]
