After he was done, the white-haired man walked towards the very center of the cemetery, to the massive monument hosting a parlor with the giant photorealistic painting of the fallen whose graves were adorned with his bouquets.
"Your sister is one of the people whose bodies were never retrieved, boy. I apologize that leaving the flowers on an empty grave is the best I can do for your older sister and her comrades.
Hearing the footsteps of the approaching martial artist, William spoke while looking at the faces on the paintings.
The thing was, he, William, was painted in the very center of the group of hundreds of people, and although the date beneath the painting clearly stated it was over-created twenty-five years old, the white-haired man was exactly the same as he was now.
Not a single wrinkle more, not a shade on his face that would suggest his actual age.
*thump*
"Great teacher, this unworthy student offers you his deepest gratitude!"
