Palermo, Normandy Court.
"This is how many challengers now?" Robert leaned against the palace wall, folding his arms and asking.
"I've lost count," Sigrdrifa said indifferently, looking at the Norman youth groaning on the ground.
"If I were you, I would now pick a few to cut their throats—that would scare off those potential madmen itching to try their luck," Robert suggested.
"There's no need for that," Sigrdrifa responded coldly.
She did not completely trust this "father," but of course, she wasn't as indifferent and hostile as at the beginning. After all, since the Medea delegation had reached an agreement with Robert, it wouldn't be appropriate for her to make relations too strained, even though she still felt very uncomfortable.
"There's been a slight change regarding the Viking trials next month," Robert continued, "there are too many younger candidates signing up this time."
"Is that why you want me to kill more?" Sigrdrifa asked.
