The two groups fell into a tense silence. Only the crackling of the campfire and the bubbling of the stew echoed in the air.
The knights of the Lawrence Clan managed to maintain their stiff posture at first, but as time ticked by, simply sitting there became terribly boring.
Some couldn't help but sneak glances at their surroundings, while others, drawn in by the increasingly tempting aroma of the meat, felt their stomachs rumble, forcing them to awkwardly suppress the sound.
This awkward silence was finally broken by one person.
Seeing that the atmosphere was right, Parsifal, following Gunnhildr's plan, prepared to make full use of his talkative nature.
He cleared his throat, moved closer to where the Lawrence knights were sitting, and, regardless of whether they wanted to listen, began to ramble on his own.
"Ahem, gentlemen, the night is long, and just sitting here is so dull. Have you ever heard? In the forest at the edge of the King of the North Wind's territory, strange figures always roam late at night... Some say they are the lost souls of ancient knights who perished in a blizzard, still searching for their way home..."
This "master storyteller" spoke vividly, his tone rising and falling dramatically.
At first, the Lawrence knights forced themselves to remain composed, not even glancing his way. But Parsifal's story was genuinely captivating, carrying a unique sense of mystery and horror.
Gradually, some couldn't resist turning their heads slightly, pricking up their ears. When Parsifal deliberately paused at a crucial point, one or two of the younger knights even blurted out subconsciously:
"What happened next? What was that shadow?"
Seeing this, Abel's expression darkened even more, and he berated them in a low voice:
"All of you, sit properly! Focus! Don't act like children who've never heard a story before!"
Reprimanded, the knights quickly straightened up, but the curiosity in their eyes could not be hidden. The fatigue and idleness of sitting stiffly for so long began to wear down their resolve.
Soon, someone licked their dry lips and couldn't help but speak to the refugees' side: "Um... could... could I have a bowl of water? I'm a bit thirsty."
The refugees naturally did not refuse and quickly handed over some fresh water. With someone having broken the ice, the atmosphere quietly began to change.
After drinking the water, the aroma of the meat stew seemed even more enticing. Someone else whispered, "Actually... having a bowl of soup wouldn't hurt, right? It smells really good..."
Gunnhildr immediately gave a signal, and soon, several bowls of hot soup were brought before the Lawrence knights.
One knight hesitated, glancing at Abel's grim figure and then at the steaming soup in front of him. In the end, he couldn't resist the temptation, carefully picked up the bowl, blew on it, and tentatively took a small sip.
As the warm broth went down, its savory flavor exploded on his taste buds, dispelling the night's chill. The man's eyes lit up instantly, and he couldn't help but take another large gulp.
Where there was one, a second and third soon followed... Gradually, more and more Lawrence knights accepted the bowls of soup.
The sound of sipping soup and satisfied sighs faintly broke the silence.
Parsifal's story continued, this time a more thrilling and dangerous hunting legend about a great snow bear.
More and more Lawrence knights gathered around to listen, no longer sitting stiffly in place but unconsciously moving closer to Parsifal.
Some even began to chime in, asking for details or sharing similar rumors they had heard.
Abel reprimanded them a few more times, but to little effect.
Seeing the atmosphere liven up, Coppelia also walked over to the campfire. She didn't speak, but simply stretched out a finger and tapped the flames lightly.
A ball of fire separated from the main flame, transforming into a firebird poised to take flight, circling and dancing above her fingertip.
Then, manipulating the Anemo element, she swept up sparks and controlled them to trace brilliant trajectories, setting off a miniature "fireworks" display in her hand.
Next, using her Cryo elemental power, she condensed a simple two-story castle in her palm, humming something like "Let it go" as she created it.
Although the young knights from the Lawrence Clan couldn't understand what she was singing, they were captivated by this magical "elemental performance," letting out soft gasps of amazement.
It's unclear who suggested it first, but a few of the more active individuals from both the refugee knights and the Lawrence knights began to spar in the open space by the fire, using whittled wooden swords.
At first, there was a sense of probing and competition, but as they fought, laughter and cheers grew more frequent.
The two sides went back and forth, the "thwack" of wooden swords colliding mingling with boisterous laughter in a cheerful harmony.
The Lawrence knights discovered that these refugee knights were agile and experienced in combat.
The refugee knights also sensed that their opponents were not just for show and had a solid foundation of training.
A subtle feeling of mutual respect among warriors quietly blossomed amidst the sweat and laughter.
Abel sat alone in his spot, watching his knights go from being vigilant and wary, to being engrossed in a story, then drinking soup, watching magic tricks, and finally, even sparring with the refugee knights with their arms around each other's shoulders...
His expression flickered. Several times he wanted to speak up and stop them, to scold them for falling for the enemy's "sugar-coated bullets" and for forgetting their identity and mission.
But when he saw the genuine smiles and relaxed expressions on his brothers' faces, the words died in his throat. It had been a long time since he'd seen them so happy.
These brothers who had followed him out here had suffered a setback during the day and a fright at night. For them to be able to temporarily forget their troubles and relax for a moment... he couldn't bear to shatter this fleeting happiness.
Sigh... Abel let out a deep, internal sigh, filled with a sense of powerlessness. I came here to apply pressure... how did it turn into this?
Anxiety and helplessness gnawed at him. He also felt parched. His gaze remained on the knights who were fooling around, but his hand unconsciously reached for the bowl of lukewarm soup in front of him.
He hesitated for a moment, then, as if in a fit of pique, tilted his head back and downed the entire bowl in a few gulps.
The soup was indeed delicious. The warmth spread from his throat to his stomach, dispelling some of the night's chill and the frustration in his heart.
He set down the empty bowl, and his gaze subconsciously turned, meeting Gunnhildr's eyes. Her eyes held a constant smile, as if she saw through everything.
Gunnhildr asked with a grin, "Well? How was it?"
Abel instinctively wanted to put on a stern face to maintain his last shred of dignity, but the comfort of his relaxed body and the warmth from the soup had eased his tense nerves.
He avoided Gunnhildr's gaze, took a deep breath of the cold air, and then slowly exhaled, as if trying to expel all the frustration from his chest.
"I admit, you all..."
He had intended to reply stiffly with "are certainly very capable," but as the words reached his lips, seeing Gunnhildr's all-knowing smile stirred a strange sense of annoyance, and he changed his words:
"...your soup, it tastes pretty good."
___
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