Pal led the horse forward at a slow pace, his brow slightly furrowed.
He saw refugees in coarse cloth assisting with road repairs at a street corner, while officials indicated the route beside them, but there was hardly any scolding or coercion.
The attendant next to him was equally perplexed, unable to hold back: "This order... it's rare."
"Hmph." Pal snorted coldly, as if to mask something: "They're quite good actors."
Yet he himself noticed that his words were somewhat lacking in confidence.
The Red Tide Knights arrayed on the city walls made him even more uneasy. They were nothing like the typical, slack private soldiers of the nobility.
Pal recognized that most of these knights came from the Calvin Clan, then glanced at his own knights. Born of the same Calvin Clan, why was there such a discrepancy in their morale?
He wanted to find fault but realized there was nothing to pick at.
