One Sengolio soldier sprinted through the chaos, armor clattering as he stumbled into the shade of a tree.
There, seated calmly on a flat rock, was Knight Anderson. His cloak rested lazily on his shoulders, his broad sword beside him. In his hands, a porcelain cup of tea steamed gently, as though the battle around them was nothing more than distant noise.
"Knight Anderson!" the soldier gasped, nearly dropping to his knees. "Their strong warriors have made his move. We request your aid!"
Anderson raised an eyebrow, sipping slowly before setting the cup down. He let out a long yawn, stretching as if waking from a nap. "Really now? Couldn't you all handle them yourselves? I'm still tired from that miserable journey."
The soldier swallowed, forcing down his frustration. He had seen this before, Anderson's indifference, his mockery of duty. Still, he spoke carefully.
