The chainmail glided over his body, rising and falling along with the warhorse.
In the morning sunlight, the gentle breeze blew softly, and the verdant shrubs and lush grassland reflected a jade-like gentle glow.
This radiance fell upon his face, not causing stinging or burning, but rather felt like the gentle brush of butterfly wings against his cheek.
Such a beautiful day should be spent picnicking, lying in the shade with those dim-witted young ladies from nearby estates, who covet status.
They lay under the tree shade, with his head resting upon their soft belly and chest, that is what should be done in this weather.
But what he faced now was not young ladies, but over a thousand big burly men.
Upon hearing Nidesar's instructions, Zelaken led his lumbering infantry battalion forward.
When truly entering the battlefield, upon seeing the horizontal formation ahead, Zelaken began to rub his nose.
This was his habitual gesture whenever he felt worried and anxious.
