They never brought up the topic of "rescue consequences" again. Margaret sat on horseback, feeling the wind rushing against her face and the faint flow of light elements in the air.
The city gate loomed closer and closer, revealing the soldiers fighting below, the beasts crashing and biting, and the white-robed old man standing solemnly on the city wall.
He was very thin, his cheekbones protruding, his eye sockets deep, his beard tangled as if it were surging white waves. But his gaze was sharp, piercing Margaret's soul from dozens of meters away.
Margaret closed her eyes.
Paine, the most powerful archmage of the Eastern Holy Land, was gloomy and eccentric, usually reclusive and avoiding contact with people. His expertise in potion making was unparalleled, and he had once visited Grants Academy to give guidance, taking note of Margaret's name.
