On the lawn, two people sat facing each other. A gust of autumn wind blew by, the bleak autumn chill akin to a killer's murderous intent—warm as spring, yet sending a cold shiver down one's spine.
The diplomat wrapped his clothes tighter around himself and fell into silence.
Mr. Truman unabashedly admitted that he was behind all of this. Although it was unpleasant, it wasn't hate-inducing.
This was much better than discovering the truth himself long after the decision was made. An unpleasant... well, somewhat detestable guy, but not nauseating. This explanation suddenly seemed much more acceptable.
In fact, at this point, he didn't have many options left to choose from.
Once he returned home, the royal family would definitely make an example of him. Over the years, he had become too familiar with that decayed and outdated country. Everyone there wanted to seize more power, and no one was willing to listen to any valuable advice.
