Watching the familiar face of the body beneath his feet, Wild Horse was carried back to his memories of six years ago. Back then, he had had two arms and the rear half of his tongue, but he didn't mind the disfigurement at all. Words became redundant when he was able to express everything through a saber or a sword.
He believed that he was born to be a killer. Unlike the many other people who had been taken away from their family when they were still young, he retained some of his childhood memories. He remembered the boundless snowy ground, his grim-faced parents, and his joyous playmates. And even more vividly, he remembered the scenes of them being killed.