Leonard drove the carriage, nervously scanning the surroundings.
The temperature was dropping rapidly.
After the desert had released all its heat, the cold here had become severe enough to make one want to wrap themselves in a thick sheepskin blanket.
And that was exactly what the winged hussars had done.
Their equipment included cloaks of leopard, wolf, or bear hide to drape over their armor, and they wore them to ward off the cold.
Ulm held out his bearskin cloak, intending to offer it to Lothar, but Lothar refused.
He was not afraid of such a trifling chill.
Having mastered Blood Magic, he was no longer anything as simple as an ordinary man.
The evening wind swept in, carrying away a layer of yellow sand.
Beneath it lay a skeleton sprawled on its back, stripped down to bare white bones. Black venomous scorpions nested in its eye sockets, burrowing deeper within.
As Leonard drove the carriage, he freed one hand to clutch the silver cross hanging from his chest.
"Heavenly Father above, please bless us. Please do not let us run into those heretic bandits. Only six of us are capable of fighting—no, five. I'm already so old I can barely lift a sword."
"And Ulm and those other two splendidly dressed cavalrymen were nothing more than foot soldiers before this. They've never even been on a battlefield. They can't possibly stand against those damned heretics."
The more Leonard thought about it, the more despair filled his face.
He began to regret acting brave and taking over the duty of escorting the carriage in place of the five soldiers under his command.
"Leonard, have you been to Kalerburg?"
His lord's somewhat lofty voice came from behind him.
"Yes, yes, my lord."
Seeing Leonard so nervous that he could barely speak