Ignoring Kieran's odd behaviour, the marquess continued down the central road of Blackthorn.
"Backwater shithole…" Nicholas spat on the muddy ground, causing the marquess to frown. "Commander Nicholas, please refrain from such comments and open your eyes. Blackthorn has been under the most brutal storm the wastelands have seen in years." The marquess pointed his muscular arm toward an overhead walkway with a few men carrying planks, timber, and nails. "Even in such dire circumstances, the duke has put the mundanes to work."
Nicholas glanced at the workers and scoffed, "A bunch of brainwashed peasants crawling around in the mud for their master."
Marquess Cunningdal's mana flared as he inspected the workers. "There's no evidence of Blood Magic, so them being mind-controlled is unlikely." He frowned. "So why are they all working so earnestly?"
"Maybe he's paying them?" Evelyn chimed in as she curiously looked around.
