The rider dismounted well out of sword's reach, tugged off his helm, and bowed from the waist.
"Honored sirs," he said, breath misting in the chill. "Forgive the delay. My Lord sent me to receive you and guide you to the castle."
He looked young—twenties, maybe—with dust on his boots, and a straight posture. His gaze flicked over Michael and Rohan, measured the disciplined formation behind them, and settled into a respectful stillness. He didn't know who they were, but he knew enough not to treat them lightly.
As the two Michaels handled their double life, a girl and a certain youth stood in front of two game pods.
The girl was Lily, the cousin of a certain necromancer, and the handsome youth was Jester, that same necromancer's undead.
Right now, both of them were looking at the game pods with excitement.
