On both sides of the capital's main avenue, common folk stopped in their tracks one after another, craning their necks to get a look as they murmured to each other in hushed tones.
Brando sat upright on his black stallion, his posture tall and straight, his face set in a cold, solemn expression as he moved forward at a slow, steady pace. Behind him, six elite guards carried a pitch-black, ice-cold coffin, following slowly in his wake.
This eerie yet deeply solemn scene was completely unheard of in the bustling capital. Everyone was thoroughly stunned and curious, but not a single person dared speak aloud.
Brando held immense power over the entire royal court, his authority weighing heavily over the whole city after years of building his reputation.
The only sound echoing down the entir
