Chapter 959 Hymn Without Strings

It is true that Yago does not know who the original owner of this cognitive field is, nor can he be sure that his observations are correct, but he also does not know whether he has been deceived or misled.

Including the "Xiu Lu" thing I saw before.

However, he also had to pay attention.

After all, those scenes, those scenes about the "Empire of Glory", the scene that "Edgeworth" guided him to observe, couldn't be unreasonable actions.

So why?

Thinking about this question, Yago wandered in the Dead Sea again, guided by the power of the silver blood that he touched, and wandered towards the location of the next fragment of the book page.

In front of the tombstones, the bard sat quietly on the reef-like bones, looking at the words on the tombstones.

Just like when he came here last time, the words on the tombstone are still so clear.

However, the bard's eyes were still as indifferent as before.

As if indifferent to everything.

One after another, the death birds flicked across the sky, and the cavity in their bodies made harsh tones.

However, as the bard plucked the strings with his palms, it seemed unusually in tune.

It's like a funeral song.

At this time, at the moment when his palm on the front of the harp stopped moving, he looked to the side.

The mist turbulent slightly, and a little girl dressed in black appeared in his vision.

The corner of the poet's mouth curled into a smile:

"Well, did you find what you were looking for?"

"No." The little girl, Betty still had that indifferent look that had nothing to do with her, "Both her cognition and his cognition have been shattered."

"Even the Secret Keeper can't put them together."

Hearing this sentence, the poet laughed:

"It's the fault of you wizards, isn't it?"

As he spoke, he seemed to have noticed something, and muttered to himself:

"'Evil'? This word, no, this word has a very good meaning, and can be added to my poetry."

His sudden self-talk didn't make Little Betty show any mood swings, she just glanced at the poet lightly:

"But I'm not a wizard."

Hearing this sentence, the poet laughed, the entire sky, the flying trajectories of the innumerable flocks of dead birds changed slightly, and a tone similar to the poet's laughter reverberated on the entire misty land. :

"Not a wizard? Do you think I don't know what a 'Keeper of Secrets' is?"

A pair of pupils of the poet, at this moment, become empty.

Even the eyeballs in it turned into mist and dissipated.

Stared at by those empty eye sockets, the little Betty dressed in black showed no expression.

She looked at the poet and said:

"Do you consider yourself a child of that age?"

The moment this sentence sounded, the poet was stunned.

In the empty eye sockets, the mist slowly gathered to form eyeballs.

With inexplicable emotions, the poet stood up and walked to a tombstone:

"Yes, that's right."

"Everything in that era has died with the death of the wizard."

"Wizards, gods, professionals...everything is gone."

With a little confusion and a mood that soon settled down, he leaned on the tombstone, and slowly moved his right hand to the harp in his hand.

In the sky, one after another, the death birds changed their flight trajectories as he plucked the strings.

Little Betty watched this scene silently, her eyes flicked over the tombstone.

The indistinct text, engraved on the tombstone, forms a single word:

".Angus."

Judging from the position of the word, this word is the middle name. For wizards and nobles, the position of this word is the weaker one in the surname of the father or mother's family.

Little Betty wasn't interested in that.

In this boundless sea of ​​fog cemetery, there are too many such tombstones.

Even she, as a member of the "Keeper of Secrets", did not know who the tombstone came from.

I don't know who is the unforgettable deceased in memory.

The dead, themselves, have no tombstones.

Those who have not been deeply remembered are equivalent to not existing.

But so what if you remember it?

Isn't it impossible to survive completely?

Just like myself.

Just like all Keepers.

Little Betty didn't turn her head in the slightest. Only the names of those who are remembered and missed will appear in this cemetery.

this

A real cemetery.

The moment her black dress disappeared into the sea of ​​fog, it didn't stir up even the slightest wave in the sea of ​​fog.

It was as if she had never been here, or even existed.

And the poet didn't look in the direction where she disappeared, and was still plucking the harp without strings.

The suicidal bird in the sky changed its flight trajectory again and again.

Silent performances, dead phantom music, "echo" in this boundless cemetery.

After an unknown amount of time, in the foggy cemetery without any time reference, the poet turned his head to look at the tombstone:

"Indeed, what he said is correct, they are all fakes."

"Whether it's you, me, or that one."

"I don't hate crows, really, I'm trying to make myself like them."

"Even if you die, you will take them with you."

"It's a pity that they have far fewer eyes than you."

"I hope I remember correctly, you must have many eyes."

"Wizards are a bunch of idiots."

"Although professionals can only be regarded as illegitimate children with impure blood at best, and gods are the orthodox heirs, there is no doubt that no matter what means are used, the moment their power is incorporated into the body, it represents everything that the mother has received. impact, and they will be implicated."

"Obviously it was the most likely to be unaffected, but in the end it became the first one to be affected."

"It's really stupid."

"However, I have to envy those paranoid lunatics, after being affected, they can last longer than professionals."

"It's just that they played a bad move in the end."

"They killed the Savior their mother brought and the Savior they captured themselves."

"Savior? It's really an annoying word, but it is indeed a wonderful world, a mediocre world without extraordinary power? Are all creatures ants?"

In the murmur to himself, the poet again plucked the harp with no strings:

"Are you born without a god, or is the god dead?"

"No wonder wizards are interested."

"It's a pity that idiots did stupid things and brought stupid consequences."

"However, it's not bad."

The poet kept strumming the harp without strings, with a smile on his face:

"Everything will come to an end, no matter how hard you struggle, it won't change."

In the air, the chirping of the dying birds seems to have reached the highest point at this moment, the highest peak of this silent hymn.