Petra Fortress.
Escorted by two light pickup trucks, Count Roskin rode out of the city with his servant on a motorcycle, his face livid.
With one arm resting on the window, the captain of the personal guard sitting in the pickup's passenger seat waved, signaling the driver to speed up and pull closer. He smiled at Count Roskin through the window.
"If you need help, remember to shout louder. We're not that stingy. We'll come help you."
"I don't need your help! I'd be thanking the heavens if you just stayed away from me!"
Glancing at the machine gun mounted behind the pickup, Roskin's brow twitched. Turning his face into the howling gale, he shouted, "Can you put that thing away? We're not going to war... Are you trying to get me killed?"
What if those friends who had come from afar misunderstood?
The captain of the personal guard and the driver exchanged odd looks. They did not quite understand what he meant, but they ultimately accepted the strange request.
He stretched his hand out the window and slapped the roof.
"Put the machine gun away for now."
"Yes, sir!" Hearing the captain's order, the machine gunner standing in the back of the pickup deftly removed the 10mm heavy machine gun from its mount.
The other pickup did the same.
At the same time, the two pickups slowed down and kept their distance from Count Roskin, who was riding ahead on the motorcycle.
Seeing the pickups fall back, Roskin finally let out a breath and relaxed a little.
Although he had reservations about Lord Sain's orders, and although he knew those jackals were the sort to devour people without spitting out the bones, he still held onto the faintest hope.
What if there really was some misunderstanding between them?
If