The soldiers crowded atop the walls, watching the cavalrymen gallop past, their eyes filled with envy and jealousy.
"That lucky bastard!"
"I used to herd sheep for the lord too. I'll go ask Knight Hans later and give it a try. I want to become one of those... winged cavalrymen too?"
"They're Winged Hussars!"
"I never realized Ulm was such a skilled rider. Look at that gleaming armor—it's like the mirror a Noble Lady would use."
On the walls, Males watched the scene in silence, a hint of nostalgia on his face.
Once upon a time, he too had crafted quite a few sets of Winged Hussar armor, every one of them finer than what this rider wore. But that was all in the past.
Ever since Archduke Jagiellon VIII had died in battle and he had been expelled from the borders of the Polis Federation, he had never seen a Winged Hussar again.
The once-mighty Polis Federation was gone forever. In its place stood a weak nation, caught between the pincers of Tsarist Russia and Prussia, suffering defeat after defeat as its territory shrank year by year.
Crack—
A severely weathered brick fell to the ground and snapped into two pieces.
Males stared in astonishment. The brick had actually come loose and fallen because of his "touch."
He instinctively looked around and met Lothar's gaze.
"I swear, my lord, I really didn't use any force."
Lothar forced a smile. "I believe you. This castle really does need repairs. For now, it's only the inner keep, but sooner or later, even the outer walls will be restored to their former glory."
Oh, give me a break!
*If it weren't for your terrifying strength, five times that of an ordinary man, who could have torn a brick right out of the