The moment Trafalgar's voice echoed through the cavern, everything changed.
Morgain.
The name alone was enough to turn steel into lead in the hands of the mercenaries. Several lowered their weapons instinctively, exchanging uneasy glances. Among the Eight Great Families, the Morgains were not only feared but notorious—whispers of their brutality and reach had spread across all the world. To attack one, even by chance, was to dig your own grave.
Leon's face drained of color. The confidence he had tried to wear cracked like brittle glass. "Y-You're a Morgain?" His words stumbled, half disbelief, half terror.
Trafalgar didn't bother to answer. He stood calm and silent, Maledicta resting loosely at his side, his cold blue eyes fixed on Leon as if dissecting him piece by piece. The silence pressed down heavier than any threat.
