Mag's gaze only lingered on the claymore for an instant, and he pretended as if he hadn't heard the words that had been spoken by the man standing at the entrance of the hall. He strode over to the small round table nearby, and picked up a yellow piece of pastry. He took a small bite of the pastry, upon which his brows furrowed slightly.
"Father, does it taste good?" Amy's attention had also been immediately drawn to the desserts on the table, and she made her way over to Mag with curiosity and anticipation etched on her little face.
Mag swallowed the pastry in his mouth before shaking his head as he gave his evaluation. "The fragrance of the osmanthus flower is too pronounced, and the flavor is too sweet. Eating one or two of these is bearable, but any more than that will make you feel sick."
Amy then pointed at the biscuits on another plate, and asked, "Then what about that one? The biscuits that look like little moons."
