The Astarte of the B

Lane sighed inwardly, barely perceptibly. He could only comfort himself mentally: come on, a magical medieval era is still the Middle Ages.,He still couldn't get used to this feeling.... No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that in order to preserve the echoes of his past life, he refused to allow himself to lose his sensitivity to this feeling.,Until the farmer nodded dumbly, he didn't hesitate. He crossed over Lane without a word and turned to leave.。