As the armies withdrew from one another, the smoke of gunpowder dissipated, and Wacht Castle regained its tranquility.
Inside the castle's parlor, Baron Gunar looked uneasily at the adversary he had fought against for over a decade, "I never imagined that one day, I would sit at the same 'table' as you."
Eriv leaned back in his chair, a relaxed smile on his face, "Really? If I remember correctly, just over two months ago, we sat at the same table cursing each other at the general's camp in Mamor."
The Master of Thorns still remembered the smug look on his opponent's face when the latter had seized Leding Castle.
But fortune turns with the wind; having taken Archers Castle with nearly twenty thousand people, Eriv now viewed Baron Dawson's "Leding Castle," a small fortress of but two or three thousand souls, as hardly worth mentioning.
"It's a metaphor! And to think you Farolises claim to be cultured," Baron Gunar snorted coldly.
