After facing his people several times, both in battle and in the harsh aftermath, Luka had grown more accustomed to the gathering eyes of hopeless, struggling humans.
Though he faced it as an archangel, back then, he could use divine miracles to sweep issues away without care.
Right now, he needed words, wit and physical action.
The square remained silent after he called out.
Though it might not be because they trusted him just yet, at the very least, their gaze carried a small crumb of respect.
That's why he tried to understand and think from their perspective.
'To them, I was just a wounded, sickly failure... No one would feel secure having that kind of person as their lord.'
Luka swept his gaze across the crowd, taking in every thin face, every dirty sleeve, every pair of eyes that looked at the baskets of bread more than they looked at him.
He found it amusing that some tried to stand proudly, pretending they had not come because of food.
