Standing in the harsh wind, the horse sneezed.
In front of the military camp, Mitney and his group sheltered from the cold wind by the side of the horse.
By noon, the sky had completely clouded over. Only a few thin, barely visible rays of sunlight spilled over the backs of the warhorses from the thick grey clouds.
After Armand entered the camp to report the situation, Andar couldn't hold back any longer and started venting incessantly:
"They're practically just a bunch of farmers playing house. How many of them are there that they dare to call themselves the Pope Country?"
"Did you hear what that Thomas said? Something about the Saint's Grandson dreaming of asking Miseria to appoint him as Pope, and she actually agreed!"
"I'm really curious, how did they manage to defeat the Extraordinary Knights? By some rustic farmers' magic dance performance?"
