Duke Lancelot's eyes remained closed as the old memories continued to pass through his mind. The image of the young Alaster standing before him was still clear, even after all these years. The anger in his eyes, the frustration in his voice and the determination he carried had been something Lancelot could never forget.
Back then, Alaster had only been a young Crown Prince who had seen the miserable state of Arcadia with his own eyes. After spending days among common soldiers, eating the same poor food and sleeping on the same hard ground, his anger had finally reached its limit.
One evening, Alaster suddenly stood up and slammed his fist against the wooden table.
"Damn those rotten nobles!"
His voice shook with anger as he stared at the reports spread across the table.
"Look at this country! Look at what they have done!"
His hands trembled as he picked up another report and threw it aside.
