——I am a dog.
An elderly old man walked on the slightly mottled cobblestone avenue. Marquis Barton, with his identity concealed under a hat, moved through his city, observing the clean and tidy streets and the leisurely paced pedestrians. This thought involuntarily popped up in his mind.
——An old dog inspecting his own domain, occasionally taking a stroll.
His gaze lowered, Marquis Barton heard the melodious sound of an organ not far away. On the street by the sea, a ballad poet had set up his platform and hung his sign, at this moment fully absorbed in his performance.
He was quite a talented ballad poet. Over the years, Marquis Barton often concealed his identity to inspect the various cities of the South Ridge. Yet, only a handful of ballad poets could, like this one, play different tunes with different instruments every day.
