Across the training ground, surrounded by a vast grassy lawn, a bluish-haired man was practising his spearmanship.
The air across the place was torn apart.
Bluish scratch marks accompanied each swing of spear covered with a bluish haze.
The man swinging the spear was drenched in sweat and seemed to have lost the sense of time, as he kept on swinging and swinging.
He tried to put all his focus so that the messy thoughts wouldn't begin to haunt him.
The bitter expression of betrayal and words of mockery sounded in his ear again and again.
[I thought we were friends. But it seems, it was just a delusional harbour on my part.]
He felt his heart burst forth as he remembered those words.
Frederick didn't care that Lucas spoke about his trump cards without knowing about it particularly, even if they pried, it was useless.
