"I suppose so," Baron Dantes began, "but calling me a baron now isn't entirely accurate because, technically, I haven't inherited the title yet."
"Who cares? Everyone calls you that, so I might as well, too."
Arthur looked at the handsome and dignified Dantes, jokingly commenting, "No wonder the old Baron Enkheisen chose you as his successor—noble blood, impressive appearance, well-read and articulate, exactly what one would expect of an old aristocrat's expectations for the next generation."
While they were chatting and joking, Arthur suddenly caught a glimpse through the foggy car window. Outside the Kremlin's Red Wall, there were over a hundred officials wrapped in fur cloaks, trembling like a flock of frozen crows in the minus-twenty-degree cold.
