The verdant leaves glisten vividly, with a thin mist lingering beneath the branches, and within the Flada Forest, tranquility reigns like a painting. Yet someone inevitably breaks this silence—a knight lifts a handful of bush leaves with his longsword, allowing a warhorse to emerge from the thicket, and he immediately sees a group of people sitting not far off in the forest clearing.
Macaro lifts his head, clearly recognizing those behind the knight, and his sullen expression swiftly eases. He brushes off the leaves from his shoulders, stands up, and says, "You've finally arrived."
The young man sits sideways on horseback, his face taut as he watches these few people, without responding.
Macaro immediately senses something amiss.
Within the range of his vision, knights clad in black and red cloaks suddenly surge from the forest, encircling the group of Royalists.
Tens of taut longbows shine with cold light, arrows aiming at everyone by the bonfire.
