"Master Knight, fish, please eat."
Looking at the charred river fish in his hand, the knight with the collapsed nose leading the group did not eat. He glanced around; only seven or eight knights remained.
Dust covered their armor, and they lay on the muddy ground without any knightly etiquette.
Taking advantage of the night, they escaped from Joan of Arc Castle and ran for half the night to reach here.
But just a few days ago, their daily breakfast was delicate cheese bread and steak.
Now there was only a palm-sized fish, charred black.
He was Duke Kush's Knight Commander, and those men were just a bunch of unarmed farmers.
Now Duke Kush was dead, Joan of Arc Castle had fallen, and they had fled in defeat, losing all honor. Their knightly titles might even be stripped away.
Thinking of this, the knight couldn't help but burst into tears. His crying stirred the others, who soon also wept.
