A few black swallows swooped down from the blue sky into the dirt, picking through the grass to find yellow clay mixed with weeds, then flying back to their nests.
Their long wings stirred the air, nearly colliding with the red and blue butterflies flitting around flowers.
The warm and blazing sunlight overhead made it a perfect day to lie in one's own yard and soak up the sun.
But at this moment, the soldiers dressed in heavy armor felt unbearably hot around their heads.
Under the sun, more than seven thousand elite mercenary infantry moved forward in the noontime light.
Every so often, they glanced up to see skirmishes taking place between light cavalry in the fields and woods nearby.
The high-crowned ship-shaped helmets, characteristic of Windmill Land, glistened with silver light, absorbing the sun's heat, turning the infantrymen's heads into pressure cookers.
