"Whew!"
Eyes immediately turned toward Garrick. The man had begun fanning the air in front of his face, his expression twisted in disgust.
"The hell is that smell? Did someone drag a wagon full of shit in here? Ah, damn, I can barely breathe."
Koran's face darkened. This rotten fool…
"I am sick and tired of your blasphemous antics! Who do you think you are!?"
"Oh, you're sick and tired?" Garrick grinned. "Perfect. Then let's knock heads. One punch. Right here. If that doesn't fix your mood, I'll give you a second."
Koran's jaw tightened.
"You…!"
"That's enough."
Garaxe interrupted, throwing a disapproving glance toward Garrick, who merely chuckled, and another toward Koran, who released a sharp huff.
"We've yet to hear from Zephyrion himself." His gaze settled on Zephyrion. It was difficult to tell what the Grand Marshal thought of the situation. Was he for him? Was he against him?
"You brought her in. What do you think?"
