Not all those who write poetry can be called poets, just as not all spells can be called spellcasters.
At this time, the “prophetic epic” placed in the hands of punk is obviously not called a “pse”. At least… In the eyes of punk, this so-called “epic” is simply a thing that puts together a bunch of messy words. If it weren’t for considering that these piled words might contain some suggestive information, punk would not have read such things that “can’t be called art but must act as art”!
Lay the paper, under the hazy moonlight, a long poem by Byron was clearly written on the delicate parchment paper in bright orange ink:
“There is a small town on the border of the Kingdom of Hatak.
There is a young man in the town called “Xiaguang”.
A warrior named “Ghanatica” was born on ordinary days.
But his future is doomed to be magnificent and turbulent!
The kind and kind town people nourished the friendly hearts of the “braves”.
The hard and poor life cultivated the strong will of the “braves”.
The extraordinary qualifications gave the “braves” the possibility to become an excellent warrior.
The exploitation of greedy nobles laid the fire of resistance in the hearts of the “braves”.
The busyness of the ruler must be negligent, and even the light of the sun will not shine on the weeds in the mud.
One day in the future, a young man named Garnatica will ignite a prairie fire in the name of “kindness”.
He will mobilize the army that is ignored.
He will lead the hungry and cold poor people,
He will assassinate the corrupt and depraved royal family
He will… face the legendary existence hidden behind the scenes.
Perhaps this fire is destined to end with an extinction in the middle.
But the sad imperial kingdom will also collapse completely in the flames”!
“………I really don’t know what the so-called “epic”. Does the people in the Alliance of Silencers” have worse artistic taste than mine? This kind of thing can also be proudly taken out and show off”?
Accompanied by the caster’s evaluation without any emotion and the white fingers that gently closed, the parchment burned out of thin air under the infusion of magic. The churning flames ignited the words on the paper, and the scorching embers disappeared along the breeze and the depth of the night.