A group of people attending the funeral were crossing the road from a side road. A man around thirty years old walked in front. He wore a white gown with a viscount badge on it. He looked sad. A group of people dressed like farmers followed him. Four of the farmers carried a coffin. Crying came out of the coffin.
Slanbrea slowly got off the wagon. He frowned as he watched the group of people. The viscount saw Slanbrea as well. The privilege he enjoyed as viscount had taught him what Slanbrea’s priest gown meant. That viscount was shocked. The farmers behind him stopped as well. They whispered in groups.
"Excuse me, who is in the coffin?" Slanbrea raised his voice and asked.
"Master, it is my son," the viscount answered with respect.
"Then what are you going to do to him?" Slanbrea asked.
