The guards finally found the mayor in a stable, curled up in a haystack. Judging from the messy traces at the scene, he must have been trying to untie a horse and flee, only diving into the hay in a panic when he heard the scrape of armor. The scattered gold and silver on the ground spoke of just how rushed and chaotic it had all been.
"Mayor! They're coming in!" The guard swallowed, his eyes filled with fear and horror. After all, the odds of several thousand troops appearing in Bree were lower than the Nine Ringwraiths arriving in person! (The Ringwraiths during the War of the One Ring: Oh? Is that so?)
In the end, the mayor still failed to escape. The guards forcibly dragged him back. After all, if the mayor ran off and those people could not find the person in charge, would they not vent their anger on the men on duty? The guards were very sincere in following their instincts. No one wanted to test the toughness of their neck against a Knight Sword...
"Honored lord, greetings. I am the mayor of Bree—Harry Butterbur! May I ask what brings you here with a great army?" The mayor stood trembling atop the wooden wall, poked out his head, and shakily asked Omsk.
"We are the allied army of the North! Several kings and lords have personally come here, so why have you not come out to greet them?" Omsk once again loudly announced their titles. Those shame-inducing epithets made everyone's toes curl, and Caslo's shocked gaze in particular made Roland's face burn. Only Marquis Al-Teglang-Franz remained expressionless, though inwardly he had already begun silently memorizing them, so he could use them later to flatter Roland!
"We welcome Your Highnesses' arrival. This humble town is