Edren hadn't felt such emotions in a long time—joy and pleasure—as if his heavy shell were disintegrating, continuously becoming lighter.
The decaying, ancient soul seemed ready to break free from the body's restraints, constantly soaring to the clouds.
Perhaps…
Perhaps this is what I've always wanted.
Edren suddenly thought.
In a life of deadly battles with demons, he had pursued for too long, until he was riddled with holes and utterly exhausted.
So when Watson hoped for his death, Edren wasn't angry; instead, he felt an inexplicable sense of relief.
It must be this way because he had long been weary of it all; the so-called mission and duty had constantly bound him tightly, forcing him to continue onward.
He was too tired.
In the deepest parts of his heart, at the depths of his soul, he might have always been praying for these.
For someone to deny him, to release everything.
"What a nostalgic sight!"
