"I am the Saint's Grandson!"
Horn dug into his ear, suspecting whether he had developed auditory hallucinations after coming to this world.
Why did he always hear some words that were difficult for him to understand for no reason?
If you are the Holy Grandson, then who am I?
The man over here successfully summoned the presence of the Holy Grandson, and began to recite a set poem:
"Move here, move there, where can a poor man live?"
"Driven by hunger and cold, like a donkey or mule, no place to hide without killing the demons!"
"You believers argue for this reason, witnessing with my soul-mirror method, I can tell there are demons in your hearts!"
The man on stage circled around, eyes wide open, scanning the surroundings.
"This, what's this?" Amidst the cheering crowd, Horn turned his head incredulously to look at Casti.
Casti grabbed Horn's arm and dragged him out of the crowd, to a corner where he spoke softly:
