Rusty Dragon

The protracted 'witch hunting' had faded into silence with the end of the Seven Years' War,  and the mysteries of the East Coast had begun to conceal themselves, yet gunpowder was on a rapid rise.
Mo Qishang, who should have been utterly confounded, stood at the crossroads of destiny in the name of Arthur. He stared in astonishment at the charging knights, the wizards atop the high towers, and the bizarre wilderness. He felt the sharpness of the longsword and the recoil of the firearm, both clear and unfamiliar. At last, he excitedly shook his robe and, with a smile on his face, said—
"Do not believe what I say, for to believe is to exist!"

They all call me Great Master

The masks on the top shelf of the display cabinet were all too familiar to Arthur.


Their overall appearance resembled a human face, pure white in color without any patterns or decorations, save for two hollow spaces at the eyes—those could only be vessels meant to contain a "Death Hound".


Having acquired one Death Hound already, Arthur didn't mind getting another.


After all, Pendragon would probably like to have another dog to ride, wouldn't he?


Besides, Pendragon didn't have any pants to worry about getting ruined.


With these thoughts in mind, Arthur didn't rush but instead lifted his right hand and stroked his chin.


Marinda, who was constantly watching Arthur, immediately noticed this gesture.


After spending a considerable amount of time together, the lady had come to recognize some of Arthur's habits.


Such as rubbing his brow when thinking, tapping fingers on the table or chair armrests.


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