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"How did it go?"
It was late in the evening after the sun had set when Kromen and his party returned from Digon.
"...I'm sorry," Tiren said in a low, raspy voice. His hoarse throat was a testament to the heated debate he had endured.
"You look terrible,” Gordon observed quietly, almost with a sigh, as he scanned Tiren’s exhausted and dejected expression.
"This is all because of my incompetence,” Kromen added, bowing his head.
Of course, everyone knew that a child under ten years old couldn’t do much in such a situation.
Thud, thud, thud...
Gordon, rising from his chair and walking down with his massive frame, knelt before Kromen.
"Your Highness, diplomacy is just like war, always with victories and defeat. Do not be too disheartened."
"But..."
Gordon placed a hand on Kromen's small shoulder, his large hand seeming to engulf it.
"Even the mighty First Prince and the brilliant Second Prince failed to set foot in the south. Your Highness has already achieved what your brothers could not."
"Then... Sir Gordon, what should I do? I cannot face His Majesty like this."
"..."
At that moment, Gordon's eyes trembled. He seemed about to say something but hesitated for a moment.
"First,...
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