Thick darkness lays over the once prosperous kingdom's land like a massive curtain, weighing heavily. The howling wind sweeps up the sand and stones from the ground, emitting a sharp whistling, as if the kingdom is groaning in pain. The white-robed figure stands proudly amidst the chaos and despair, his silhouette tall and eerie, emitting a chilling glow that resembles the cold fire from Hell, icy and merciless.
Lin Yu tightly grips the long sword that has accompanied him in battles for many years, the sword's blade trembling slightly, whether from tension or excitement, it's hard to say. His forehead is covered in fine beads of sweat, sliding down his cheeks and soaking his collar. The sweat glistens faintly in the dim light, like a symbol of his unyielding spirit within.
