Sir Lionheart's lips were pressed into a thin, almost disapproving line. One gloved hand covered her mouth, but it did little to hide the way her nose wrinkled.
Ritso, ever the composed one, bowed deeply, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Thank you for coming all this way, sir Lionheart, but surely a guard could have sufficed?"
Sir Lionheart did not immediately respond. Her sharp, calculating eyes swept across the hall, pausing on each face, studying them as though she were inspecting livestock at a market. Surprise flickered in her gaze, but it was brief, replaced by cool curiosity.
"These are the people?" she finally asked, her voice even, unreadable.
Ritso straightened, pushing up her glasses with a practiced motion. "Yes, sir. But there are more of them."
"More of them, you say?" Lionheart's brow arched slightly, her posture shifting just enough to indicate interest.
Ritso nodded. "Yes, we have two more halls, and after Ash wins the Slaughterhouse tourn—"
Before she could finish, Kelly sprang forward with all the boundless energy of an uncontainable storm.
With a delighted squeal, Kelly leaped onto Ritso's back, wrapping her small arms holding girl's horn perching atop her like a tiny queen on her throne. Ritso, caught off guard, let out a strangled cough but did not try to shake her off. Kelly, however, paid no mind to anything except the towering figure before her.
Seated comfortably on Ritso's shoulders, Kelly craned her neck to peer up at sir Lionheart with wide, sparkling eyes. She looked for all the world as if she had just discovered a mythical beast. Mouth forming a perfect "O," she stared, utterly entranced.
Sir Lionheart, ever cold and unshaken, met the child's gaze with a pointed look. "And who might you be, little lady?"
Kelly's brows furrowed, her small nose scrunching in indignation. She placed her hands firmly on her hips, puffing out her tiny chest with pride. "Kelly is not a little lady! Kelly is a big lady!"
A small chuckle rippled through the crowd. Even Ritso, still holding Kelly on her shoulders, couldn't help the smirk tugging at her lips. But sir Lionheart, ever composed, simply tilted her head, regarding the child with a mixture of amusement and detached interest.
"A big lady, you say?" she mused. "And what is a 'big lady' doing in a place like this?"
Kelly blinked, tilting her head as if confused by the question. "Kelly lives here."
Lionheart's expression did not change, but something shifted in her eyes—an emotion so fleeting it was impossible to name. She turned her gaze back to Ritso. "Two more halls, you said. And they are all like this?"
Ritso adjusted her glasses, her voice steady. "Not all of them, but most, yes."
Lionheart exhaled through her nose, her gloved fingers tightening slightly where they rested against her hip. "This complicates things."
Kelly, still seated on Ritso's shoulders, kicked her small legs in the air. "Why does it complicate things? Do you not like us?"
The room grew still. Even the background murmurs of people gathering their things faded into silence. The question, innocent though it was, hung in the air like an arrow waiting to strike its target.
Sir Lionheart, to her credit, did not falter. Her gaze locked onto Kelly's, unreadable as ever. "Like has nothing to do with it."
Kelly's lips pursed, clearly unsatisfied but stayed silent.
"They aren't just number lady!"
The crowd parted slightly as Myre stepped forward, arms crossed over her chest. Her dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, met the noblewoman's with something that almost resembled defiance. "They are people. People who have fought to survive down here. We don't need your approval—just your word that we're leaving."
A stunned silence followed.
Then, for the first time, Ritso's composure cracked.
The sharp glare she shot Myre was unlike anything anyone had ever seen from her before. Cold, severe, and brimming with unspoken fury. The kind of look that could pierce through steel.
Even uren who far away sitting watching tornament as audience felt surge of protective instincts but he can't decipher what is he feeling.
But back in hall ritso.
"Myre." Her voice was calm, dangerously so. "Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?"
Myre turned her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "I know exactly who I'm speaking to."
"Then act like it," Ritso snapped. "Sir Lionheart is the only reason we even have a chance at leaving this place. The only reason we're not rotting in these trash for the rest of our lives. Show some respect."
The weight of Ritso's words settled over the crowd like a thick fog. No one had ever seen her this openly furious. Myre opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, Lionheart cut in smoothly.
"I'm here only because Ash begged me to."
The effect was instant.
It was as if the very air in the room had been sucked away. Myre went rigid, and a ripple of tension ran through the gathered people. A single moment of absolute disbelief hung heavy in the silence.
"Mister Ash… begged?" Myre's voice was barely above a whisper, but the sheer weight of it could have shattered stone.
There was no one here who did not revere Ash. He was more than just a leader—he was their pillar. The unshakable force that had carried them through countless horrors. To say he had begged? It was unthinkable. Impossible. Like claiming the ocean had dried up overnight.
"You're lying." Myre's voice was sharp, accusing.
Lionheart, however, was unfazed. "Believe what you want," she said simply, her tone as indifferent as ever. "It doesn't change the fact that he asked for my help. And here I am."
The murmurs started then—whispers rippling through the crowd like wildfire. Eyes darted to one another, uncertain, uneasy. If what Lionheart said was true… what had pushed Ash to such an extent?
Myre's hands curled into fists. "Mister Ash doesn't beg," she spat. "If he asked for help, then it was a trade. He wouldn't—"
"He would," Lionheart interrupted, her gaze as sharp as a blade. "He would if it meant all of you lived."
That brought a new kind of silence. A heavy, suffocating weight settled in everyone's chests. Because deep down, they knew she was right. Ash would never beg for himself. But for them? For their survival?
It was possi'le.
It was probable.
Ritso, sensing the storm brewing, exhaled and pushed up her glasses once more, regaining her usual calm. "Enough. This changes nothing. What matters is that we have a way out. We need to prepare."
Myre still looked as if she wanted to argue, but she clamped her mouth shut, her jaw tight with frustration.
Lionheart, having said her piece, turned toward the exit. "You have time until next day," she said over her shoulder. "Be ready."
And with that, she was gone, leaving the hall in a whirlwind of emotions—uncertainty, disbelief, but above all else… urgency.
Kelly, still standing beside Ritso, tugged at her sleeve. "Kelly needs to pack."
Ritso let out a tired sigh, ruffling the child's curls. "Go on, then. Take only what you need."
As Kelly scampered off, the weight of the night pressed down on those left behind.