But Horn thought, there are already too many heroes and tyrants in the history books, adding one more wouldn't matter, nor would losing one.
However, there are too few ordinary people in the history books, so few it's pitiful.
Just like what Jeanne said, wasn't he also someone who only saw the present but couldn't see tomorrow?
At least he still had one last chance, those he had led into the abyss still had a sliver of hope.
Even if it's just a trivial possibility, even if it means he has to give up everything as the price.
"Life is like a dream, how much joy can there be, who can truly live forever?"
In such a scene, Horn should recite a deathbed poem, like "I smile with my sword facing the sky" or "Life lasts fifty years."
But he simply didn't have that talent. His knightly poetry was just doggerel level; all he could do was recite.
Gently humming, he drew out the entire Blood Covering Cloud from its sheath, the sharp red light seemed to cut through the moonlight.
