Under the starry sky, under the clips of the moon, Lyon stood against the insane beggar from yesterday. His brows frowned as he looked at the disheveled man. He smelled the foul but the man's eyes revealed no harm... just... loss...
Lyon was composed despite his sharp eyes. He crossed his arms and asked, "What do you want?"
The insane beggar blinked. His lips opened but no words could come out, as if a baby struggling to say a word.
Lyon couldn't decipher what the man was mumbling about but the latter turned around and picked up the mallet that the young masters left behind.
The insane beggar clutched it against its chest before turning to face him. His eyes still looked vacant, but there was a subtle hint of sanity behind the glimmer of his dark pupils.
