A vivid yellow ball materialized on the map, its appearance signifying the successful marking of the target by the system. Desmond, always cautious, pondered to himself, "Better to err on the side of caution." Instead of heading straight home, he opted to tail the coachman, lurking discreetly as the latter prepared to recite his spell.
Meanwhile, the coachman remained oblivious to Desmond's presence. Struggling under the weight of the hefty pouch, he strained every sinew to drag it along the ground, causing the fireflies nestled in the grass to take flight, disturbed by his exertion.
Srrt srrt.
As an ordinary citizen, bereft of the swordsmanship skills possessed by Desmond or his guards, the coachman strained to pull the cumbersome pouch, beads of sweat forming on his brow. The fireflies swarmed around him, their ethereal glow dancing in the night air.
