When Perfikot stepped into the survivor camp under the escort of the head of the Missionary Group and the Steam Knights, the entire ruins seemed to have been cast with a Silence Spell.
Everyone lowered their heads before this esteemed Regent of the Victor Empire, the Lord of the Northern Territory, and even their breathing became cautious.
The old aristocrats, who once prided themselves as the heritage of Romulus, were now humbly clutching their tattered cold-resistant cloaks, as if the worn-out fabric could conceal their long-lost glory.
Among them, some were once proud of the bronze brooches of their ancestors, now those brooches were dim and rusty.
Some stubbornly wore the rusted family crest rings on fingers resembling dry branches, as if those rings could still prove their once-noble bloodline.
