The sky was overcast with dark clouds, and the wind carrying the damp scent of soil blew from the direction of the northern mountains. The dry leaves of autumn and tufts of grass were whipped up by the wind, spiraling and pattering against the clean windows of the train. Sir Philip stood inside the tactical command post of the Iron Throne, watching the wilderness and forests retreating past the window, his gaze calm.
Time matures a person, especially when that time is spent on the battlefield. Even the most inexperienced will be honed into a steady warrior. The once youthful and vigorous Cecil Knight had now become the highest commander of the Empire's army, with his steadfast and reliable demeanor being his greatest asset. Standing quietly there, compared to four years ago, he seemed much more restrained in his brilliance.
