Michael's feet hit the ground with a soft thud.
He took a steadying breath, scanning his surroundings.
Michael could already see the signs of early construction.
The treeline that once stood tall now showed gaps—fresh stumps where great trees had been felled with clean cuts.
A few knights, clad in silver-trimmed armor bearing the crest of the Lionheart Kingdom, were at work.
Their movements were fluid. Each swing of a blade cleaved through thick trunks with barely any resistance.
Michael paused for a moment, watching them.
Their strength was evident—not just in their physicality, but in their aura.
Calm. Efficient. Powerful.
They moved with a rhythm that spoke of sufficient training.
Still, despite their obvious strength, they seemed relaxed, almost enjoying the task.
With leisure steps, Michael made his way toward the base of the flying ship that brought him here.
The knights glanced his way but instead of challenging him, they gave a respectful salute.
