"Oh? Despite being severely injured, he still had the concentration to kill my crow from that distance... and with such precise accuracy, no less."
A deep voice echoed from within the radiant shell of a man clad in full golden armor—head to toe, not a single piece of flesh visible. A brilliant crest depicting a blazing sun gleamed on his chestplate, shimmering beneath the afternoon light.
Other knights, garbed in armor almost identical to his, approached with furrowed brows.
"Vice-Captain?" one of them asked.
"What do you mean injured? Is there a battle happening in the Royal Capital? Or elsewhere?"
The Vice-Captain of the Royal Army merely hummed.
"Two extremely powerful combatants are fighting near the border of the kingdom... Keft Village. And it seems..."
He paused. His voice deepened.
"Margrave Alaric Breval has fallen in battle."
"!!!"
The knights around him froze. Murmurs broke out as more golden-clad knights began to gather, drawn in by the weight of his words.
