Henry's voice seemed to be as cold as ice, sending shivers down Elton's entire body. When he turned around, he could see a black-haired young man in his mid-twenties with a kingly demeanor that couldn't be hidden by the rags covering his body. The man's face was sharp and well outlined, a fire seemed to be burning inside those grey eyes, which were looking at Elton with a concealed fury, masked by an apathetic smile.
The image of Grok lying on the cold ground with organs almost dropping to the ground, struggling to breathe as his blood painted the snow beneath him, ignited an undeniable fury within Henry. This was one of his soldiers, and someone had dared to do this to him. Deep down, he believed that he alone held the right to take action against his soldiers, and those who dared to soil his honor should perish. The arrogance and image of a king laid on the capacity of protecting his subjects.
