"Just a few days ago, one of them had the misfortune of striking my toe. Damn it all, I was just out in the courtyard, enjoying the sun."
The Old Baron took off his shoe, wanting to show Eric his wound. He wasn't wearing socks, and his toes were caked in grime. A peculiar odor then began to fill the hall. Eleanor lifted her veil to cover her nose, her delicate brows knitting together, but she didn't turn away.
"Truly a tragic tale," Eric said, pinching his nose.
"Sunbathing is good for an old man's health—it's a habit of mine. The spring sun in Mann is particularly fine, much better than Antioch's. It's gentle and warm. You can tell a good place from a bad one just by its sunlight.
The sunlight in Jerusalem, on the other hand, is not so good. If I knew Christ personally, I think I'd offer him a bit of advice."
The Old Baron began to ramble on about irrelevant matters.
Eric handed the Sword to the Old Baron, attempting to cut short his rambling.
