The square in Newly Town had never been so crowded.
A magnificent black carriage was parked in the center, its four pure-white horses pawing restlessly at the ground, snorting white clouds of hot breath.
Surrounding the carriage were eight Knights in silver chainmail. They silently rested their hands on their sword hilts, their sharp gazes scrutinizing the surroundings.
The townspeople instinctively took a step back. The sound of whispering vanished, leaving only a tense and oppressive atmosphere in the air.
The carriage door opened.
A black leather boot, polished so brightly it could reflect a person's image, cautiously emerged, as if testing for something filthy.
Finally, with an air of resignation, it stepped onto the muddy ground of Newly Town.
Banaby Minas Hill, a middle-aged man as plump as a loaf of white bread, heaved himself down from the carriage.
