Arcefi wasn't numb to the dreadful gaze settling upon his head. It feels as though a cleaver hovered over his nape. The blade was ready to chop his head off his shoulders. He yanked his gaze away, accidentally landings on the large hand pressing on Moulin's back, veins pulsing. The lord's strong arm, wrapping half of the aphrodite's slender waist and boldly holding it as if to show ownership. Not a trace of shame flitted past Lord Hercullio's chilling eyes. The audience locked their jaws tight, restraining their shock and surprise.
Swallowing down his discomfort, the elven Purifier spoke his greetings to the maeruthan High Lord. The others behind him stuttered as they did the same, unable to bear the pressure of Lord Hercullio's gaze. Revealing a calm countenance, Arcefi bared a faint smile, assuring his appearance looked relaxed and unfazed.
