Romon had been about to carefully consider how to put it, but Fafier's reckless shout instantly ruined his mood.
Still, after decades of friendship, Romon did not grow angry.
He gazed at Fafier. If he remembered correctly, Fafier was already thirty-seven. His body had begun to put on weight, wrinkles had quietly climbed across his face, and if one looked closely, a few strands of his hair had already turned gray-white.
In the blink of an eye, they had known each other for over twenty years. Life was simply that short.
In this world, only those who truly reached beyond the Twenty-First Level could extend their lifespans, yet even then, they would live no more than several centuries.
In contrast, most professionals who had not broken through the Eleventh Level did not even live as long as ordinary people.
There was a reason for that. Whether martial arts, magic, or Divine Spells, all greatly consumed the body's innate strength. Before they could nourish it in return, their lifespans would be shortened.
After broadening his horizons, Romon knew that Fafier and Nick were not truly people of exceptional talent. Yet they had struggled together from that little town until now; they were part of his life—just like Eileen.
And Bell, as well as Lurun.
They might not have been the best companions along the way, but they were the closest ones, impossible to part with.
In that instant, enlightenment dawned upon Romon, and joy filled his heart.
In his previous life, there had been legends of the immortal Dao's Supreme Detachment, and Buddhist recluses who sought liberation for themselves alone.
But if one followed the orthodox path, perhaps one would sever worldly ties in order to dissolve karmic bonds. There might be no descendants left behind, nor any so-called friends.
Even