The light of dawn.
A motorcycle flashed through the high sky.
Durandal floated above the sea. The steadfast warrior waited. Since they had agreed to duel at night, she would wait here for the entire day. In any case, she was more excited than anyone else and had no need for sleep.
In contrast...
Lord Bishop Otto was somewhat dejected. As both screenwriter and director, he had been rebuked by an actor with ideas of her own, and that actor's improvisation was a hundred times better than the script. It was a tremendous blow to his creative passion.
"Is the script I wrote really that bad?"
"Lord Bishop, may I swear?"
"No."
"Then there's nothing to say. Let me give a simple assessment. When that child descended carrying Blood Judas, she thought she was saving the familiars. If Zhao Bai's actions were a kind defense, then the Bishop's script maliciously raised the stakes, recklessly adding hope that never belonged to her. It was like inflating a soap bubble, making it easier to shatter."
"What a merciless critique. How did I never notice before?"
Otto said this. Though his script had been disparaged as worthless, all concern had vanished from his tone. Clearly, he had merely been pretending.
Durandal asked, "Has the Bishop realized that he isn't good at screenwriting?"
"I realized that long ago. I just wanted to see whether my skills had improved after all these years of study. Forget that script—it was something I wrote on a whim... I've realized you're actually quite good at flirting. It's just that your battles used to end too quickly, with everything solved by one punch, so you never had the chance."
"Please don't, Lord Bishop. Don't be like this."
It was said that people with especially strong pride would immediately