"The scent of firewood!"
"Indeed, although we hate to admit it, from the moment we're born into this world, we're imbued with this scent. In this pitiful world, even though she provides for us, that doesn't mean she has the right to take everything away—doesn't mean we must burn ourselves to fulfill her desires."
In the voice of this enchanting King, there was nothing but resentment and unwillingness.
"Are you talking about Amon?" the enchantress asked.
"Who else but her? We so-called Kings seem revered, but in reality, we merely possess a unique constitution that carries the initial furnace. We are nothing but the thickest firewood, merely the wick illuminating her soul. Every generation of Kings strives hard, but in the face of the endless Amon, all our efforts can only delay certain events. Yet now, perhaps even that can't hold on." Dance King sighed.