Including themselves, all thirty-five people stepped outside and formed two rows before the entrance, respectfully awaiting the dense black tide slowly approaching.
Over a hundred silver-armored knights advanced at a measured pace. At their head, a man sat astride a black warhorse. He was around forty, with handsome features and a burning intensity in his brow and eyes like the radiance of the midday sun. He exuded an effortless authority, clad in red-patterned battle armor and a cloak. The banners raised on either side proclaimed his status as a Red-Pattern Knight Commander.
So this is a Red-Pattern Knight Commander who can command an army of a hundred thousand? Many of those standing there marveled inwardly at the sight. Zeng Mu, seeing him for the first time, felt the same. Only several minutes later, through hushed exchanges with the others, would he learn that the man's name was Boswell, and that he was Sibigail's father.
Behind the black horse came a red horse as vivid as flame. Riding it was a woman, one whom a single glance made impossible to forget.
She wore a gold crown set with rubies, a short purple-and-gold robe, arm guards, and black-and-gold battle boots. Everything about her radiated an unstoppable, razor-sharp presence. That overwhelming aura briefly dazed Zeng Mu before he recovered and turned his attention to her face.
She looked to be in her late thirties, yet her features and skin showed no trace of age. There were no wrinkles, no pallor, only a pure refinement left behind by the cleansing passage of time, and a pair of eyes like a frozen sea.
One glance was enough for Zeng Mu to sense the burning heat within that coldness. He hurriedly averted his gaze, not daring to look into her eyes again, as though another glance