The scene was like a silent drama, as the knights slowly advanced, humans and beasts exhaling white mist in the frigid air. Among the procession, Duke Modkaesar stood tall and solemn. Born into the military, he was accustomed to being expressionless, only casting a cold gaze around, while the crowd remained silent, merely watching this bearer of the Holy Sword.
Walking alongside him was the royal proxy, the crowned prince appointed by the King himself—the Praetor of Dulun, a stern-faced middle-aged man, appearing slightly younger than the Duke at first glance. Nonetheless, both were of a cold nature, and walking together at this moment, they seemed quite complementary.
Snowflakes fell gently, the light of torches flickering above people's heads.
