The room's remnants of hopeful energy were quickly chambered by the sudden tension.
As the one on the receiving end of the challenge, Thalric still hadn't drawn his weapons, nor did his hands hover to them. But to any veteran or instinctual warrior, his posture was airtight, leaving no openings.
His vigilance was subtle.
He didn't flare his aura, didn't bare his teeth like a rookie eager to prove himself. Instead, he stood steady, his restraint carrying off the experience of one who had ample, yet unforgettable experiences in politics. For someone like him, a GuildMaster, his authority was undeniable. But here, before the personal guard of the divine priestess, his rank was, on paper, lesser. And that mattered.
He knew that if he showed even a hint of hostility, the soldiers at her back would take it as heresy against the priestess herself. Yet, if a duel was forced, if he accepted a challenge, or if he was pressed into self-defense, then the lines of context shifted.
