Edward still stood where he was, his sword aimed forward, its tip steady. The Duke lay flat on the ground beneath him, his body pressed against the scorched stone, dust clinging to his robes and sweat soaking through the fine fabric.
Their eyes met.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The Duke's gaze was sharp but strained, pride clashing with fear behind his eyes. Edward's expression was calm, almost indifferent, as though he were not standing over one of the most powerful men in the kingdom, but merely observing something already decided.
Slowly, Edward lowered his sword.
The blade dipped until its tip pointed at the ground, the faint glow around it fading as his mana settled. The Duke's chest rose and fell heavily as he watched every small movement, waiting for the strike that did not come.
Edward finally spoke, his voice even and unhurried.
"I will not just kill you—"
The Duke moved instantly.
