His footsteps seemed light and slow as he walked through the different windows divided by light and shadow. Luo Yu occasionally paused, holding his magic wand, standing beside the window, listening to the long orders coming from outside. The stern and taut tone was strained to the point of distortion in the cold weather.
"Raise bows—!"
The commander raised his right hand, and the long Crow Feather cloak gently slid from the silver ash shoulder armor. He held his hand straight, pointing towards the direction of the inn, under his helmet, his gloomy gaze was like two sharp swords. Behind him, the knights were chanting in unison: "Praise Adrian, praise the Lord of Storms!"
The mercenaries reluctantly joined in with a couple of chants, but they didn't care about this cold winter. They didn't care about anything but the blood-stained money falling into their pockets.
