The tent was deadly silent. The young man looked at the hunting knife on the ground silently. His face was clear of any emotions. After a long while, he seemed to have recalled something, and a dim brightness returned to his eyes.
He propped himself up with difficulty and looked at the Desolate Man father and son. He allowed his usual strict and sacred expression to return to his face and said seriously, "So, ambushing someone isn't very interesting after all."
He said the ludicrous statement seriously and sternly. His tone was like how it had been for the past ten years. It was calm and warm, coupled with pride and indifference from being of a high status.
However, he was no longer the beautiful god-like creature of the West-Hill, but a filthy vagabond. The look was dissonant and ridiculous on his face.