This seems to be a story about heroes and knights.
But it's not really a story about heroes and knights.
In the existing memories of Number Thirty-Two, no drama has ever set its tone with such an image—it carries a suffocating oppression yet reveals an indescribable power, as if the scent of steel and fire continuously emanates from the depths of the scene, surrounding the young knight in battle attire.
It isn't glamorous, nor is it exquisite, and lacks symbols of religion or royal authority—the aristocrats accustomed to traditional dramas wouldn't like it, especially not the bloodstains on the young knight's face or the intertwining scars on his armor. Although real, the reality is too "ugly."
