It was the day of the holy birth. The nobles marveled at the Lord of Marshall as he walked on triumph boulevard. The golden bull armor in his body reflected the rays from the blazing sun. Golden shimmer surrounded his body, even the fur of this warhorse down below was painted a gold color.
Abel's warhorse closely followed behind one of the Lord of Marshall. Behind them was the steward, riding on their old horses. Today was the day of glory for the Lord of Marshall. Although it was also Abel's, he tried to focus on something even bigger than status. His title did not matter--Black Smith Master or young intermediate knight had already given Abel more than enough status he desired among all Duchies.
