The country roads of the Valley Plain remain muddy at the end of winter.
A carriage travels along the muddy road, its wheels jolting on the half-thawed frozen soil, emitting a teeth-grating squeak.
However, this is still much better than walking.
Laman sits at the bumpy rear of the carriage, his legs dangling in the air.
Dust and tiny fragments of straw cover his old military uniform, whose original color cannot be washed out, making him resemble a scarecrow planted in a wheat field.
With his rough thumb, he repeatedly caresses a cold bronze medal, his face occasionally breaking into a smile, sometimes falling into confusion.
The medal is engraved with two words he has only recently learned, "Duchy" and "Guard," and the royal family emblem in the middle is a confirmation and reward for their achievements.
He had never thought that someone as useless as himself would one day receive the Grand Duke's affirmation and wear a medal awarded by the royal family.
