Burn Some Fruit for the Great Angel

It was lively everywhere.

People gathered around the fire, singing and dancing. Their laughter and songs were carried far away by the night wind.

Some Ultramarines had been drinking Baal's sour wine, their faces flushed red. They wanted to throw up but were too embarrassed to do so.

Ultramar was rich in produce. Those young masters who had grown up with honey pots in their mouths had probably never drunk wine this awful.

Children ran through the crowd holding roasted sweet potatoes, while air currents carried sparks drifting in every direction.

Iron Hammer squatted earnestly beside the bonfire, eating roasted meat. Cecilia stood at the edge of the crowd, also holding a cup of wine as she spoke quietly with a sister from the Order.

It was a celebration.

Lin En was infected by the mood as well.

He picked up the roasted meat from his plate and stuffed a handful into his mouth, chewing until his cheeks bulged.

He thought of Turpan's sunlight, then looked up at Baal's night sky.

The two places really were quite alike.

If grapevines ever covered the wastelands of Baal, how wonderful would that be?

Haha, red sands, lush green vines, green and purple grapes, and sweet wine freshly brewed.

A whole group of people insisted that tart dry red was the true form of wine, when sweet wine was clearly better.

Once the sweet wine was brewed, he would definitely be the first to come and drink it.

The Red Gladiolus was still in his hand.

It was a lonely, stiff little flower, plain and simple. Its petals had been softened slightly by his body heat, but they remained perfectly neat.

Actually, Lin En did not know whether Tyrennius had become a member of the Legion of the Damned.

Perhaps he had not.