His Majesty's Gift

The sun was setting.

Tales rode his mount, its saddle brand-new and its coat gleaming, and slowly headed east.

He looked past the scout rider's shoulder at the wild grass and cooking smoke in the distance, lost in thought.

The land here was different. It was unlike the Northern Land and unlike the desert—more humid, fertile, and flat. This was information that the power of Never Lost let him know instinctively.

"Your horsemanship is excellent, Your Highness. You're no worse than a seasoned cavalryman."

The Prince, immersed in Never Lost, was jolted awake by the sudden voice and hurriedly turned around.

"Count Kloma."

Amid the thunder of hooves, Earl of Wing Fortress, Deler Kloma, drew up his reins and accelerated past several personal guards until he reached the Prince's mount. The guards tactfully scattered, leaving the Count and the Prince some space.

The freaks who should have been guarding him closely had been kept outside the personal guard of the Head Crow. Snake Hand looked somewhat indignant, but, unwilling to offend the Count, he could only lower his head and mutter complaints.

"In this day and age, at your age, even many nobles of distinguished birth would find it difficult to remain on horseback for so long, even if they could maintain proper posture."

Count Deler spoke with easy calm.

More than ten hours had passed since their imposing column left the camp. Apart from a single midday rest, the well-trained Raven Whistle Light Cavalry had kept their horses at a brisk pace the entire way.

Tales squeezed his legs and glanced from the corner of his eye at Deler's lower leg in the stirrup. It seemed that the man's riding posture had barely changed at all.

Remain on horseback for so long?

The Prince raised his brows inwardly. *You're