The lycan did not snarl or bare his teeth.
He shifted his grip on the spear instead, planting one clawed foot back, posture tightening as his gaze traced the armor, the sword, the way Trafalgar held himself. There was caution there, but also something closer to respect.
"…You feel different," the lycan said, voice rough but steady. "A worthy opponent."
Trafalgar did not answer.
The lycan's lips pulled into a sharp grin.
"Tell me your name."
A brief pause followed, just long enough for the sounds of the battlefield to rush in again, steel screaming against steel, spells detonating somewhere behind them.
"Trafalgar du Morgain," he said calmly.
The lycan's ears twitched. He nodded once.
"Ohhh," he replied. "I am Raskel. It's an honor to face someone of the Eight Great Families." His grip tightened. "If I fall to your blade, then that was simply my fate."
Trafalgar said nothing.
Raskel exhaled through his nose, then moved.
