Three centaurs, two healing magicians, an orc champion, and everything else. Quexajo is my immediate vassal from my homeland - Haganalopolis, thankfully, he is here to command our inaugural sea forces. The rest of the sidelines such as the ones who seek asylum and expatriated out of Inglovia have the higher causes to join under the influence of their volition to reclaim their ones’ birthland. In my honest opinion, I’m glad that Sheriff Rayl - my old man allocates some coffer straight towards the Kehinan treasury. A handful of ten stash boxes were sent yesterday. As of now, we have just received the stamp of my father. No counterfeit coins, all authentic Inglovies and some gold and silver. Thanks for the mint, old man.

“How’s idling around, Lord Geoff?” Quexajo questions where there’s a smirk casting upon his face, calling me from afar.

“Great! What can you find in the early mornings here in Kehina?” after retorting to his question, I ask him back afterwards.

“It’s much colder than home. And during mornings to dusks, it is a mild mend of humidity and gusts. As far as I can see, wondering. This is why you bet, milord. Preferring Kehinan climate over our home’s climate…” he cracks a joke.

“That’s a great one, Quexajo.” I admit, as I also laugh.

“Enjoy your moments, young master. As for me, I have matters to attend to.” he bids a farewell.

I love that guy, I really do. He is my one and only brother-in-arms, though, personally he didn’t attend the University of Inglovian Occidental like I did. Lord Rayl wanted him to also enroll at my alma mater yet he declined in a courteous manner the kind gesture of my father. We used to exchange letters when we were far away from each other. I treated him akin to a family. Biologically-wise, it says otherwise. He is my surrogate brother, my father adopted him buying Quexajo out of the slave auction. Later then, he dedicated himself in servitude to Haganalopolis, especially to my aunt Ç. It has been years since then, we have met yet again. I have forgotten to say: 'thank you' to my aunt for reuniting us. My relationship with him remains hidden in the eyes of Haganalopolis.

"See you soon, brother." I respire, breathing under my voice.

"What was that, young master?"

"What? Nothing… it matters no more." I dismiss myself, where Quexajo continues to tread on his way “If you would excuse me, milord.” he waves his hand and he smiles, leaving.

“Oh, damn it! I forgot if he would like to stay for a bit since it’s too early for him to run errands.” speaking through my mind, right now thoroughly - I do exude not a breath this time impulsively.

I would like to ask when I was studying diplomatic relations - state and foreign affairs in Inglovia, how Quexajo did manage to hone himself during that time period? We are at the same age. In mortality years, yes. Human outlook-wise, I doubt that. For a brief amount of time, he is now the secretary to the matrician and at the same time, one of the renowned admirals in our home country. When I graduated my diplomatic education, I was first to know the news of Quexajo being employed as close to Haganolopolis’s advisory. I am glad to recognize his feat of attaining this stunt. If I should wonder why Quexajo chooses to go into the military in lieu of serving the country through the sports of delegations and parley, it sounds realistic to me to join me as well. However, in this case, he is working side-by-side with me under the banner of Kehina and in the proud legacy of Haganolopolis.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Well, I do miss this kind of thing. Dust really sucks. But the particles here are silkier than Haganolopolis’s sand.” I blurt out.

“Did you say something, milord?” a man approaching with a question, he seems to be a farrier - I suppose.

“Oh? Hello there! How’s the morning?” I reply to him with salutations, on an instinct where I am startled.

“Nothing special, milord… how about you? What do you think of these steads?”

“Great! The horses are majestic… far superior to our home’s breed.” I praise the quality of the horses here in Kehina.

“Really? How about a race, milord?” he challenges me into an equestrian race.

“Fine by me. Any stakes? Any handicaps I may be upholding to you?”

“I love doing spurs. I love taking care of these creatures. If it’s a fight that you’re looking for then I will stage with you on equal grounds, milord.”

“Sure.” I agree with his terms.

“By the way, if I may ask, what’s your name?” in a polite tone, I question the identity of the man discreetly.

"I am a 'nobody', milord. My name is not worth mentioning."

"Alright. Have it your way, mister." after the conduct he showed to me, I let it slide… considering that I am too nosy about some certain aspects of privacy.

The race is a thousand strides long. This oval around the corral is the course. These steads would probably finish this track in just a minute. As for bipedal, I don't know - I haven't found it myself yet. As the farrier has stated, there are no handicaps given by either side. In the end, the match ended. By a huge gap, about twenty gallops away - the farrier managed to leave after the initial start of the race. I was after him keeping up the pace yet at the end of the day, he got the best out of me. I am never so inclined with people only doing labors with these marvelous creatures. Well, I guess, if they have leeway or such then they have all of the time to practice their horse riding.

"Not bad, mister. You completely outraced me back there!" raising compliments, I commend the farrier thereabout.

"Likewise, milord. You ain't quite so bad, as I remember. Just a little." he responds to my honest sentiment, I do kind of like this guy!

He presents me with his exposed hand, saying: "Nice match, milord…" as he adds, offering me some sportsmanship - I take the hand and I smile back at him.

Right after the race, I see Quexajo rushing towards me while I am on horseback - under the glistening heat of the morning sun. Is he going to make fun of me after I lost the race? Damn, he must be one of the hardcore hecklers so much, as it would seem. That's what old friends are for.

"Young master, I have grievous news." while he is catching his breath, walking up to me, Quexajo utters in a rather heavy voice.