Noon sunlight slanted down, a breeze carrying some coolness.
Vaerik donned a dark gray wolf pelt cloak, sword at his waist, riding along the dirt road.
Several guards followed behind him, all uniformly armed and armored, silent.
In the guard knights' formation, the most conspicuous wasn't those burly elite knights, but a somewhat green figure.
That was Weir, wearing ill-fitting light knight armor with a shorter knight's sword at his waist.
Though his frame hadn't fully matured, riding that robust horse gave off a "child riding big horse" impression.
But he sat steadily without any sign of swaying—clearly he'd worked hard on horsemanship.
The only thing out of place was probably that expression on his face—trying hard to look stern while still carrying childishness.
He was earnestly maintaining a stern face, trying to display "I'm already the great lord's guard" bearing.
Hmm, clearly posing.
As Vaerik passed by him, peripheral vision caught this and he nearly laughed aloud.
