In the icy embrace of winter, as the snow glistened like a celestial tapestry, You ventured alongside the formidable General Wriothesley, the Duke of the kingdom of Fontaine, on a patrol that would forever etch itself upon the annals of your memory. As you rode our steeds beyond the kingdom's borders, a profound bond between you transcended your differences no matter status. You had freely chosen to accompany him, loyalty unwavering, regardless of the perils that lay ahead.

The relentless cold gnawed at your skin, leaving your noses numb. The snow beneath boots creaked and groaned.

Suddenly, a band of adversaries emerged from the shadows, their malevolent intent clear. They sought their plans to eliminate the Duke - his authority posing a formidable obstacle to their ambitions. A bloody clash ensued, the snow turning crimson beneath all's feet. Wriothesley, with his unwavering resolve, fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his prowess as a warrior.

Amidst the chaos, he shielded you from harm, his concern for your well-being overshadowing his own peril even if you wield a weapon.

But fate had a cruel twist in store. A vicious blow felled him, his leg pierced by a merciless blade. As his guards rushed to his aid, Wriothesley struggled to his feet, his body weakened but his spirit unyielding.

"I'm fine... it's just a slight wound..." he uttered, his voice raspy with pain. Yet, in that moment of adversity, his determination still stood. At least, those foes have retreated...