"Who am I?"
That question actually made Brando hesitate.
Was he Su Fei, or Brando? Count Tonigell, or a descendant of Sword Saint Darus? The hero of the Eluin people, or the savior ordained by Martha—was he the Fool, or the King?
And among these many identities, which one truly belonged to him?
Brando stared intently at the towering Sacred White Stone. The gentle afternoon sunlight slanted across him, while time flowed like sand and the sunlight shifted its radiance. The shadows on the stone wall also came alive, like scene after scene engraved with unfathomable years.
There was a hero who shattered the heavens.
A king was removing his crown.
The twilight of a wise man.
The conviction of an idealist.
Four overlapping figures merged together.
Like changing light, they finally converged upon one person.
Brando stood silently before the stele, as layer upon layer of radiant feathers folded behind him, finally transforming the mortal world into nothingness.
Everyone watched the scene and exchanged bewildered looks. What did the interwoven, divided light and shadows on the stele mean—an illusion, or a revelation? Who exactly was this young man, to evoke such a wondrous sight?
Among the crowd, only Tumen's eyes held certainty, and he nodded faintly. It was a calmness called wisdom and foresight, as though the future and the fog were no longer layers of curtains. The flame of wisdom had cleaved a path of blood and fire through the dark thorns. Having seen the final glimmer of dawn, he would no longer fear or lose his way.
Brando sensed something and turned around. One pair of eyes was young, the other old. One was a student, the other a teacher. The young one held restrained ambition, while the aged one was calm and composed. A thousand years