The morning air was thick with the scent of damp earth as two priests trudged through the narrow paths leading toward the camp.
Their white robes, stained with mud from weeks of travel through neglected roads, swayed with each weary step.
"This countryside is a damn mess," the younger one muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I've seen beggars with better roads in the capital slums."
The older priest shot him a warning glance but nodded anyway. "Keep your voice down. We're almost at the Viscount's estate. The last thing we need is for someone to hear us complaining."
They passed through the makeshift camp where a few guards loitered, barely acknowledging their presence.
The mansion loomed ahead, a structure that tried too hard to look grand but only managed to appear gaudy. Inside, the air was different—perfumed, artificial.
The drawing room was spacious enough, with light filtering through stained glass windows that probably cost more than a farmer's yearly income.
