"So, the reason you didn't go to the winter training camp is just because you drank too much and lost track of time?"
Sitting with her legs crossed on the plush cushion of a countryside villa, Moliat looked coldly at the row of knights standing at attention.
In this early winter weather, the temperature in Mountain County was even lower, showing signs of snow.
Amid the cold weather, the knights under Moliat's command were bare-chested, exposing their smooth, plump muscles, huddling together like quails.
The red-faced knights glanced at each other, nudging and jostling among themselves, and finally pushed one person forward.
"We were wrong, we are guilty." The square-headed knight dared not look directly at the imposing iron-faced woman in front of him.
"Where did you go wrong?" Moliat asked in a deep voice.
"We went wrong because the potato root liquor was too delicious and cheap."
"Who developed this thing?"
