"Yamamoto Odinson," Cole introduced. "Newest member of Iron Vanguard and the new face in our team."
"Damn," one of Marcus's teammates said, a younger man with such an archer's build. "You're so tall. What are you, six-seven? Six-eight?"
"Six-seven," Yamamoto confirmed.
"And look at that face—like someone carved it from marble. You should be a noble, not crawling through dungeons like us ugly folk." The archer grinned. "Must make the ladies swoon, huh?"
"Shut up dimwit, who's ugly?"
"Speak for yourself." Two others retorted.
"He wouldn't know," Silas said sourly. "Too busy training."
"Ah," the archer said, understanding dawning. "I see. Well, good luck with that, friend."
There were knowing smirks from Marcus's team, the kind that came from watching this kind of dynamic play out a few times before. After a few more minutes of conversation and well-wishes, they parted ways—Marcus's team heading back to Mashlow while Cole's team continued toward the dungeon.
