Trafalgar wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his glove.
The cold still stung, but it was nothing compared to the pounding inside his skull. The fight had lasted less than a minute. A brutal clash of forces far beyond his level. If Mordrek hadn't arrived…
'That hunter would've killed me without breaking a sweat.'
He spat to the side, the snow tinting red for a moment.
A shadow stepped closer behind him.
"Hey, bastard. What was your name again?"
Trafalgar didn't turn around. He recognized the voice—calm, amused, and just a little smug.
"Trafalgar," he said quietly. Then, glancing over his shoulder, "You're Valttair's little brother, right?"
Mordrek froze mid-step.
A vein popped at his temple.
He walked over slowly and flicked Trafalgar's forehead with one sharp finger.
Flick!
"–Agh!"
"Don't call me that," Mordrek said, expression flat. "I've got a name, bastard. It's Mordrek."
He folded his arms.
