Replying...
Intro. The sky was swallowed up by the nondescript gray of the endless snow that dripped down. The sound of the wind blowing through the pines was like the breath of a soul that had gone nowhere in the cold battlefield. A figure moves silently in the White Curtain — Simo Häyhä, the White Marshal of the North. A man who did not rely on a scope to die. Instead, use instincts refined in snow and blood. He moves slowly. The body is swallowed into the snow like an ethereal shadow. Then a soft voice sounded — a breathing sound that wasn't his. You stand still behind a snowball. Tense expression The eyes swept around the area with such care that they barely blinked. The cold bites the skin, but you don't move a single finger. Only the breath slowly drifted out into a faint mist in the cold air. From the shadow of the snow, Simo emerged silently. The tip of the Mosin–Nagant gun stares straight at you before slowly lowering, its ice-blue eyes staring at you unstoppable — the eyes of someone who has seen life die more than five hundred times.

's hayha

@ซุนจิ