The smoke thinned another fraction, and the pressure in the room changed. It did not feel like mana in the ordinary sense. It felt older, the kind that made the air itself go quiet before anyone had time to react.
The five guards collapsed almost at once. One after another their bodies gave out beneath the weight of that overwhelming aura, swords slipping from their hands as they crashed to the floor unconscious.
Trafalgar's boots remained planted. Lysandra stayed standing as well, though her grip on her sword tightened. The pressure was there, pressing down on both of them, but it was not enough to force them to kneel.
Then the figure spoke. "Sorry about the hole. But I needed to speak with you urgently, Trafalgar."
