Lying on the floor with an open book over his face, he looked no different from a dead person—still, unmoving.
"Why are you here again?" Vincent groaned as soon as he heard footsteps approaching.
He didn't need to ask who it was. There was only one person whose footsteps were this light—Ilyan.
"Woah! I was sure I was being careful this time," the lavender-haired young man said, pulling the book away from Vincent's face, a bright grin on his lips.
The other young man glared at him, crossing his arms.
"I didn't get enough sleep because of the battle yesterday, Ilyan. Can you not?"
Ilyan's mouth parted slightly, clearly surprised by Vincent's words.
"Eh? But why would you participate? Shouldn't you just stay back and let your knights fight? Your mother might worry to death if you get injured."
