The cold wind that chilled down to the bone was howling on. The cold air had seeped into the armor. The sunlight of winter was shining upon the silver armor that the Knights were wearing.
The reflection of the sunlight was making the armor glitter.
On the main path that connects Moldavia and Moldova, a platoon of knights was riding on their horses without saying anything. In between the trampling of the horseshoes, snow and dirt weresplashing all over the place, leaving a trail of gray dust cloud at the end of the platoon that was advancing forward.
Because they were not in a hurry to arrive at their destination, the knights were riding at a pace slower than the pace when they were hustling over to Moldova. Days of riding forward on their horses had not worn them out at all. Instead, they were riding at a comfortable pace.
However, regardless of how slow they were, they were about to arrive at their destination soon.
