"This Harvin, not much to look at and a bit ugly, but he's reliable. Have him feign defeat, and look, it's as if he really lost."
Zelaken studied Nidesar's expression and tested the waters as he spoke.
"Hmph, can't win a battle but excels at pretending to lose... Have the rebels advanced?"
"They have advanced."
"That's enough."
Sitting on the terrace of Gale Castle, Nidesar petted his large sand sculpture without observing closely.
If he had looked carefully, he would have noticed—
The knights' armor, loosened during their retreat, clanged noisily against each other.
Some helmets were askew, and some had even discarded all their armor, returning alone.
The longswords, cracked and worn, were thrust into the ground, reflecting the evening's glow.
Their banners no longer fluttered but were rolled up, hanging limply on the poles.
In one corner of the camp, a few knights sat around a campfire, their faces covered in dust and sweat, their hands trembling with goblets of wine.
