Chapter- Banquet [7]
A distinguished middle-aged gentleman stepped forward, raising his hands for attention.
"Given that this is Lady Rithvale's celebration, I'll oversee this duel. No weapons, no essence usage will be allowed. We'll keep this to simple hand-to-hand combat. First to yield or be unable to continue loses."
Renard gave a sharp nod and took his position with practiced form.
His stance betraying years of formal training as he settled into a combat-ready pose. Every line of his body screamed discipline and noble martial education.
On the opposite side, Alaric barely seemed to register the weight of the occasion.
He stood with both hands still casually tucked in his pockets, gaze half-dazed yet oddly sharp beneath the haze of wine.
His posture so relaxed he might have been waiting for tea service.
"Agreed," he murmured, tilting his head like a predator humoring prey.
