"Praise Kinuheart, God of Nobles!"
Knight Makarov's lips trembled, and so did his heart.
If Joan didn't return soon, he was ready to seek out Kilian and die with him to earn the Empire's forgiveness...
He ran out of the Castle and, sure enough, saw Miss Montreal standing there. Her hair was disheveled, her cheeks filthy, her dress caked with mud and sand, and even her shoes were gone. But at least she was alive...
"Thank heavens you're safe!"
Joan imitated the manner of the most powerful noble she had ever met—Olmedo—and said coldly, "Kilian... he did something he shouldn't have."
Knight Makarov went deathly pale. "Did he...?"
"What are you talking about? He merely offended me!" Joan gave him an odd look.
"Thank goodness... thank goodness..." Knight Makarov patted his chest in relief.
Things hadn't gone so far that they couldn't be put right.
"But no one offends the Emp—Free City!"
Knight Makarov snapped to attention like a cavalryman before his commanding officer. "I understand, Miss Montreal. I, Makarov Loha, shall be the sword in your hand!"
"How many people do you have?" Joan asked.
"My territory has another Great Swordsman and an elite mage. I can also muster a hundred swordsmen!"
"Not enough..."
Knight Makarov was, after all, only a minor lord on the edge of the Broken Mountains. His land and resources were no match for Lord Kilian's.
Joan told Knight Makarov to send someone riding at full speed to the Dimon Kingdom Capital for help. She would stay here.
One of her guards was still in Lord Kilian's hands. By the time help arrived from Free City, she might already be dead.
Joan had to rescue her while there was still time!
"How much money do you have?" Joan asked Knight Makarov.
"What did you say?"