The night, dimly illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon, seemed eerily parallel to the scene of hell itself.
Everywhere, bodies lay strewn across the ground.
Standing alone in a sea of blood was a man clad in golden armor, a plume atop his helmet and a Yaksha Mask concealing his face.
His broken cloak, stained red with blood, fluttered wildly amidst the bloody chaos.
In his hand, he held a crescent-shaped broadsword.
With an arrogant gait, he emerged from the blood-soaked battlefield, like a lone shadow shrouded in darkness.
As peach petals danced around him in the sky, he swung his broadsword with an unmatched skill and a cocky demeanor.
Dancing amidst the rain of petals.
Under the terrifying Yaksha mask.
His pleasant voice echoed words from the depths of his throat.
"Day after day, night after night, you never returned. I was compelled to remarry, forget me."
"Day after day, night after night, you returned, but your soul is long gone."
