Viscount Cedric Darenthal, one of the few true neutral nobles in Norvaegard. He was now in a meeting with Marquis Cyrant Drexford, a noble who was known by many to hate the four ducal households.
The Marquis sat across from him, medium build, his frame carrying the weight of a man who had stood on real battlefields.
His attire was refined, almost luxurious, yet it couldn't hide the hardened muscle beneath. Even worse, his aura seeped out unconsciously, like a blade drawn halfway from its sheath, which made Cedric feel a little uncomfortable.
'To think he came to visit me, I already have a guess of what he wants to talk about, but let's see where this goes.' Cedric showed a courteous smile as he spoke.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting the esteemed Marquis Drexford?"
The Marquis's lips pulled into the kind of smile that held no warmth, the smile of a man who came not to converse, but to convince.
