"High Lord Rashal, as much as I respect you, this is outrageous."
"I second that opinion. We are your swords. Fighting for you is our duty. For you to give that task away to two unknown strangers is an insult to all of us—who have fought alongside you for hundreds of years. How can you come to this decision?"
"We cannot accept this."
Silence enveloped the main office to a choking level.
Now, the office was not only full of people in armour, but it was also full of years, of loyalty, of unspoken accusations that pressed against the walls like smoke in a sealed room. High Lord Rashal sat behind his desk, reclined in the high-backed chair, one hand massaging his throbbing forehead.
It had been days, and now the Purgation Duel loomed half a day away.
A blade dangling over his fate, and yet the thing making his skull pound was not the coming battle.
It was this troublesome moment instead—the people in it and the weight of their stares.
