C4885 Vigilante a

Brush down, void trembles.

It was as if a Vigilante from the Middle Ages had walked out of the endless darkness, holding a long sword in his hand, his heroic spirit soaring to the sky.

As he wrote this sentence, the ink floated in the air, emitting endless killing intent that shot straight into the clouds.

This was only a part of the entire poem, but the sword intent soared to the sky