Ingwig calendar year 791.
A gentle drizzle fell from the sky, baptizing the chaotic earth, washing away the blood stains on the iron armor one by one. The knights looked up, allowing the rain to seep into their armor as much as possible to cool their feverish bodies, and a faint steam rose from their armor.
The battle had entered its final stage, the enemy's formation was scattered by the knights. Most of them were using outdated weapons, which only sparked slightly when striking the fine armor. Only a few enemies had armor, but they faced skilled knights and couldn't sway the battle.
Count Stuart slowly withdrew his sword from the enemy's body, his movents incredibly sluggish. As the sword left, large amounts of blood gushed from the broken body. He had been struggling with this knight for a long ti, and at the last mont, Count Stuart seized the opportunity, knocking him unconscious with the hilt, then slitting his throat.
He was already old, and this brief exertion left him panting. Leaning on the cross-shaped blade, he slightly raised his head, enjoying the coolness descending from the sky.
"Ah... What day is it?"
His eyes under the helt felt only the feverish heat. He turned around and on the battlefield, littered with corpses, embers were still burning. So knights had fallen forever, while others struggled to stand.
The Count removed his helt, his weary gaze sweeping over the land. He tried to boost morale, raising his sword, and the knights responded, yet the sword seed wilted, appearing sowhat bleak.
Everything began a few days ago. The fishern here saw a large number of ships crossing the White Tide Strait and landing in Ingwig, but they were not fishern themselves; they wore heavy armor.
This matter was quickly reported to the nearby lords, and to Count Stuart here. The Old Count felt that sothing was amiss; after the White Tide Strait lies Gaulunaro, and if it was the enemy's army, he should have received a warning in advance, but now there was nothing.
Count Stuart thanked his own vigilance; he imdiately summoned his army. Then, the following day, enemies from Gaulunaro surrounded his castle.
They attempted to capture this place, as securing Stuart Territory would provide enough resources for their follow-up forces to rest, and even use it as a base to push further into the Ingwig hinterland.
Thus, Count Stuart made a bold decision; he did not heed others' advice and instead held his position here.
He was now a nail, pinning Gaulunaro's forces tightly to Stuart Territory, and if they shifted to attack other territories, it would cause a huge marching burden, leading to failed assaults. Count Stuart did not retreat and held firm to this day.
They only sent their trusted aides on horseback to relay this ssage to other territories, even reaching the Platinum Palace in Old Dunling, while continuously waiting for reinforcents from other lands through days of perseverance.
The knights once again vanquished the enemy, driving them out through a breach in the wall. Then, more people surged up to fortify the damaged breach with defenses.
Count Stuart was too old, so old that he himself felt exhausted, casually sitting on the steps, while his servant cautiously ran over in the shadows.
He was a child who appeared sowhat timid, not even daring to et the gaze of this aged man, skillfully dismantling the armor from his body, and Count Stuart sighed deeply, feeling as if his soul was released.
"How is the situation today, Navis?"
Navis deftly removed the last pieces of armor, stacking them together, replying while smoothly continuing his work.
"It's increasingly bad. We've been besieged for four days. Although supplies are sufficient, everyone is panicked, and..."
Seeing Navis's hesitation, Count Stuart laughed, wrinkles of age twisting together like an old tree.
He liked this servant for a simple reason – he was a straightforward person, who would directly tell him all the bad news and good news without lying or betrayal. Although he was born a farr, he possessed a noble soul.
"Is it because I am old?"
He smiled as he faced his own aging, finding no embarrassnt in it, rely accepting it as the twilight of a hero.
Once, Count Stuart could wield a war hamr and sword single-handedly, an unrivaled knight, almost a at grinder on the battlefield. After each battle, his armor would be soaked with blood, and people called him Stuart's Red Knight.
But now the Red Knight was old, even swinging a sword felt exhausting, and his people also perceived him as aged, believing that these tall walls could no longer protect them.
Navis hesitated for a mont, then nodded.
The Count's smile remained, but gradually turned mournful, helpless, and then pain spread across his face. He coughed violently, and Navis, montarily flustered, hurried to support the Count, but could not stop his suffering until he fainted.
When Count Stuart woke again, he was in a familiar room. Dark red curtains hung at the four corners of the bed, the room empty except for Navis sitting in a chair outside the door, his head slightly lowered, seemingly asleep.
The elder struggled to crawl out of bed, but every movent brought imnse pain. He couldn't restrain his low growl, waking the servant outside the door, prompting Navis to run in, looking flustered.
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