Lance raised his hands and approached, their faces finally becoming clear to each other under the moonlit night.
The sheriff appeared to be in his thirties, sporting medium-length blond hair and a matching, lush golden beard. His rugged features and spirited eyes exuded an air of stubborn resilience, suggesting an unshakable character not easily swayed by ordinary matters.
Lance's appearance also surprised the sheriff. He had never seen such a refined face in this small town; it was one that clearly didn't belong to ordinary folk—an air not even the town mayor possessed.
The long-haired hound, sensing Lance was not an enemy, no longer showed its earlier ferocity but instead approached and sniffed him.
It could only be said that most people judge by appearances, the sheriff included. His guard lowered significantly. He thought Lance had encountered some trouble and was about to ask when he was interrupted.
Lance didn't speak but raised his hand, gesturing for them to speak aside.
