Just before dawn, as the Warren Garrison's camp began to stir with activity.
Mary sat beside a low table. The oil lamp on it was the tent's only source of light. Even with its wick turned up as far as it would go, broad stretches remained dim, especially behind Mary, where her body cast a large shadow.
On the bed, James VIII was still fast asleep.
After Qin Ran had repelled the first wave of steppe cavalry yesterday, the old king had fallen asleep in what was almost a collapse.
He was simply too tired.
Facing Jenny James had already left the old king utterly exhausted.
The steppe cavalry that followed had drained him further, both physically and mentally.
In fact, ever since arriving at Thunder Fortress, the old king had personally overseen everything, from rebuilding the fortress to gathering every soldier he could muster.
Even with others helping, he had rested for only two or three hours over several days, further wearing down a body that was already struggling under its burdens.
Mary could clearly see that, even in sleep, her father in name remained deathly pale.
It was as though the flame of his life might go out at any moment.
Frowning, Mary tucked his blanket more snugly around him.
Although she still could not truly accept him as her father, deep down, she felt he was genuinely pitiful.
He should have been in the prime of his life, yet he was already withered and old.
His entire life was like a pool of ink.
Darkness everywhere, without a trace of color.
He was unhappy!
Mary was absolutely certain of that.
Even in front of her, he merely forced a smile. When alone, he would sigh endlessly.
"A king's duties?"
Mary murmured softly.
With such a living example