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The Laughing Swordsman

Only when all the living perish, will there be peace ... Apollo was a bratty noble. Using the power of his father, he did many mischievous stunts. However, he would never go too far. The worst he did was steal someone's shoe, while on the average, it would be poking them in the back and running off. That's why he found it so absurd that someone would assassinate him, in his own room no less. He was stabbed in the back and left to die... But then he was back in his room, completely fine. Yet, he was stabbed in the back once again. Once he was stabbed in the back for the third time, the cruel reality began to sink in. That this would repeat itself for an eternity. The only thing in his room was his bed and his bokken, a wooden sword. At some point, Apollo picked up the bokken. He took his first steps to break out of the cycle. And swore to bury the person who called for this assassin with his own hands. ...But also calls a lot of things mommy for some reason.

Disgrace · Fantasi
Peringkat tidak cukup
372 Chs

Weaver

Apollo looked towards the chortle with his blindspot.

He saw a decrepit old man.

The old man was wearing a robe with countless tears and holes. He had a bad hunch, making him look short.

One of his eyes had a bad purple bruise. The eyelid had sunk in because the eye behind it was a small pile of mush.

Half of the old man's teeth were missing while the ones that remained were yellow and chipped.

Once Apollo looked at him with his blindspot, the old man jumped.

His chortles turned to silence as he ducked behind a tree.

The old man peeked over and saw Apollo.

"Ah, not a gardener."

Apollo raised an eyebrow.

"What is a gardener?"

The old man stepped out from behind the tree with a chortle.

"They are the things that consume the living things they find and turn them into part of the black mist. This mist is what the trees use to survive."

Apollo raised an eyebrow.