The tension in the air could be carved with a blade.
Trafalgar stepped forward, his eyes locked onto the one man he wanted dead more than anything else right now.
"You," he said coldly, pointing. "You're the referee."
The captain, a seasoned veteran in his fifties with short blond hair and sharp brown eyes, looked between him and Roland. After a moment, he gave a firm nod.
"So be it."
He turned to the soldiers around them, barking the order: "Clear the ground! A duel is about to commence!"
The courtyard burst into motion. Nearly three hundred soldiers—many still holding training weapons—quickly parted to form a wide ring. The snow crunched underfoot as boots shuffled back, leaving a perfect circle of open space between the two men.
