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This bounty hunter had spent years doing his job, hunting down criminals like they were beasts and putting his life on the line time and time again, bereft of fear. He had heard plenty of threats before, plenty of warnings about what would happen if he continued his endeavors, and shrugged them off. That said, the man before him was projecting so much hatred, so much sadistic killing intent, that he felt a chill crawl up his spine, a chill he wasn’t sure he had ever experienced before. It didn’t matter if the man before him was his target or not. He promptly turned and left, wanting to get as far away from the Knight’s Sheath and this rapacious lunatic as possible. Once he was gone, everyone in the bar applauded Noah’s performance, and he turned and bowed.

Should he do it? Just forfeit the match? To admit before the crowd that their prince was too weak to fight back? After everything that had happened to him, he had no pride left, nothing to lose. Maybe it was better to accept his failure and resign himself to his shame. Lying on the ground, he raised his arm, about to surrender, but stopped, thinking back to a conversation he had with Tarnas. It was during the year of training, the two of them sitting around the campfire on an autumn night. Seraph was staring deep into the flames, into the light and warmth, but all he felt inside was cold darkness.

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