Roland took a light sip of the pale yellow liquor in his cup, his thoughtful gaze drifting toward the middle-aged noble in the center of the crowd.
'That must be... Marston, the head of the noble faction...'
Though the leader of this noble faction was nearly fifty, he still maintained an upright posture.
The lines time had etched on his face did not diminish his bearing; instead, they faintly revealed the handsome contours of his youth.
Unlike the nobles of the other River Domain nations, Marston's speech and mannerisms exuded an elegant air identical to that of the nobility in the Golden Valley Kingdom. It was a kind of innate, unhurried confidence.
The only imperfection was the disability in his right leg. He was currently leaning casually on a cane, which slightly marred the noble decorum he deliberately maintained.
"Everyone!"
Marston raised his wine glass, his face beaming with unconcealable joy.
