Inside a lavish tent, a long table groaned under the weight of hundreds of kinds of wine and food.
Migellan was eating greedily, like a filthy pig, devouring everything in his reach.
Horus looked at him and burst into laughter, then said with mad amusement:
"Migellan, be careful not to explode from gluttony, my friend. I doubt there's a coffin big enough for that bloated body of yours."
Migellan glanced at him as he poured himself more wine.
"I've earned it. I killed plenty of bastards today. Besides, we don't have much time we need to head back to the capital. Those were the High Priest's orders."
Horus' expression darkened as he leaned back and said:
"That bastard… He even ordered the Celestial Blades to remain in Ashland. Suspicious, isn't it? Why would he want us and our lord to return just to protect the capital?"
Before Migellan could respond, the Patriarch De' Miglian entered the tent.
Both men immediately stood and bowed.
The patriarch motioned for them to sit. Migellan quickly poured him a goblet of wine and offered it:
"Please, my lord."
The patriarch accepted the goblet and removed his black mask. Sitting down upon his ornate chair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the crimson wine.
He had chestnut brown hair, sharp and mature features, likely in his mid-thirties. From beneath his collar, a dark tattoo was visible a withered rose wrapped in black thorns, extending down his arm like a curse etched into flesh.
He spoke in a cold, deliberate tone:
"That damned Grayman is hiding something. There's no other reason he would summon me and the Celestial Blades together."
Horus let out a dry laugh:
"You're absolutely right, my lord."
Suddenly, the muffled sounds of hooves crunching the ash echoed outside the tent.
The patriarch's gaze shifted forward.
Then he spoke, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of disdain:
"I never expected you to show up here… Saint Orlahan."