The Royal Capital of the Faruk Kingdom was plunged into an unusual state of busyness at dawn.
The city guards were going door to door, relaying the royal order:
All residents must go to the main thoroughfare at noon, lining up on both sides to kneel and welcome the arriving dignitary.
Anyone who disobeys will face severe punishment, at the very least, exile to the frontier.
In a small workshop, the blacksmith shop owner Thomas had just received the news, his face full of resentment and confusion.
He was a middle-aged man in his early fifties, with a thick beard that had turned half-white, and the muscles on his arms were strong from years of forging metal.
"What damn noble again, forcing us to drop everything to go and kneel?"
The middle-aged blacksmith muttered a curse under his breath, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his apron, his brows furrowed deeply like "川."
"We already had one visit in the first half of the year, and now they're coming again?"
