The midday sun slanted down, and a gentle breeze carried a hint of chill.
Louis draped a dark grey wolfskin cape over his shoulders, a sword at his waist, riding along the dirt path.
Behind him followed several guards, all armed and armored, silent without a word.
In the ranks of the guard knights, the most eye-catching was not the few burly Elite Knights but rather a slightly immature figure.
That was Weir, clad in a not-so-fitting knight's light armor, with a shorter Knight's Sword at his waist.
Despite his body not being fully grown, riding on that sturdy horse gave the impression of "a child riding a big horse."
Yet, he sat steadily, without a hint of wobbling, indicating he had put in considerable effort into his horsemanship.
The only jarring thing was probably his face, trying hard to maintain a stern, yet still somewhat childish expression.
He was trying hard to put on a face that said, "I'm already a protector of the great Lord."
Yes, clearly posing for coolness.
