The old man wasn't paying attention to what the Demon had said; he was more astonished as he asked: "Old language? The words of the lord? You can speak it?"
Pierre just smiled ambiguously in response.
The old man was overjoyed: "Then... then are you a lord too? Hey! I knew you must be someone important!"
Pierre said with self-deprecation: "If I were a lord, would I be sitting here waiting to rot?"
"Hey!" the old man dragged out the sound in disagreement, excitedly saying: "Even a good horse has to pull a heavy cart now and then!"
Through the small window of the dungeon, Pierre could see the gallows on the other end of the prison, where bodies always hung frozen.
Crows swarmed over the gallows, like a flowing black cloud.
"No matter what kind of horse, they all die," Pierre's throat was swollen badly, making it difficult for him to speak: "Here, it's only a matter of time."