"Ugh…" About twenty minutes later, Beric lay sprawled on the ground, groaning as he crawled, bruised and battered. His arms were bound with the same magical restraints that Sylas and Max had broken free from. Sylas clicked his tongue, looking down at him.
"Let's have a little talk, shall we?" Sylas said.
"After putting me through this? What do we have to discuss?" Beric spat out, grimacing.
"Consider yourself lucky I didn't kill you after breaking the code of hospitality," Sylas replied coolly.
At the pointed remark, Beric flinched. Hospitality wasn't just lip service; among nobility, violating it was a grave offense. If one side broke it intentionally, the other party was permitted to kill them without fear of retribution, even from powerful noble families. It was seen as self-inflicted justice.
"Now, look this way when I'm speaking to you," Sylas instructed.
"I'm looking at you," Beric muttered.
