At this moment, I feel like I have become a bird, growing long wings, eager to dash to the mountaintop.

The path to the mountaintop becomes increasingly rugged.

Now, I can fully grasp the rusty old sickle with one hand.

The hand holding the sickle cuts through the weeds on the mountain path one by one.

Beneath the thorns still lies a steep mountain path.

However, these thorns can no longer hinder me.

As I climb to the mountaintop, the sun rises, warmly shining on me without reservation.

Even the rusty sickle now resembles a divine weapon with a golden glow.

I spread my arms to embrace the mountain breeze.

Beneath my feet are winding mountain paths and in the distance, a long railway track.

This time I see clearly.

That tunnel leads to mountains further away.

I should have realized earlier.

In this world, there is more than one mountain.