The space opened around them.
Knights stepped back instinctively, boots scraping hard against the stone as a rough circle formed.
The sound echoed, sharp and hollow, sealing them in.
The air thickened—charged with expectation, with the kind of hunger that only came from men who wanted blood without consequences.
Steel whispered as Guy unsheathed his sword.
He lifted it high, slow and deliberate, letting the metal catch the light. A flourish followed.
It was showy, practiced, and the reaction was immediate.
"Show him!"
"Don't hold back, Guy!"
"That's our captain!"
"Drag him back to the streets!"
The cheers crashed over Ezra like a wave.
He didn't flinch.
Ezra raised his blade and leveled it at Guy, arm steady, stance loose, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.
He didn't pose. Didn't perform.
He looked… bored.
'He's enjoying this far too much,' Ezra thought, unimpressed. 'As if he wasn't just pissing himself earlier when I challenged him.'
