As Soron glanced towards the next section of the letter, he immediately noticed that the ink here was darker and more uneven, as though Charles' hand had trembled or pressed too hard against the parchment while writing it.
The strokes looked harsher, the pressure heavier, betraying a moment where emotion had clearly spilled over the edges of his composure.
That small detail alone made Soron straighten his spine and adjust his grip on the letter, his breath slowing as he prepared himself to read the next part, knowing instinctively that whatever followed would not be any easier to bear than what had already come before, yet accepting that he had no choice but to continue.
[This next part, only read it if you already have the Origin Blades and the confidence to kill Gods with them.
For if you do not, then I have nothing more to say that will help you, old friend.
But if you do... then give what I am about to write next some very serious thoughts.]
