The heroines of yesterday, once as beautiful as flowers, were now matrons who still held a certain charm.
The great Knights who once roamed the world, sword in hand, were now uncouth uncles picking at their feet.
Things had changed.
Before Richan Valley, the scene suddenly resembled a large-scale matchmaking event for the middle-aged. Everyone was lost in nostalgic reminiscence. When the aging Knights spoke of settling old scores, they couldn't help but sit and pick at their feet. And when the matrons spoke of heartfelt passions, their eyes would grow moist as they unconsciously pressed their legs together.
At that moment, an old man in a conical hat let out a sudden grunt. "You cur! Don't think I can't see you!"
In an instant, the grunt was like a clap of thunder, exploding in everyone's ears and leaving them with a dull ringing.
The old man raised his fishing rod high, pointing it toward a certain spot.
SWISH!
