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"So we're gods, then? Forging our own destiny?" — Vargas returns his aggressive gaze to the young one. "Don't think about it! On the contrary — if someone can defeat a god, then so can you. Strike left — I'll leave myself open, I promise! My word is tungsten."
The servant strikes from the right.
"That's not true. Training is the main factor in your life. Do you think milords Whiteclaw and Lorican neglected it? Or milady Stefania? They wore their fingers down to the bone! Come on, strike, and make sure I don't dodge," — the sparring continues...
"Maybe they didn't neglect it... But they don't look like they'll live long either."
"Not much. With a bit of cynicism, one might assume that most lords' loyalty is only convenient for them when it suits their moment. Though I'd have waited in their place too."
"Alas, milord Lester, that is the price for the order established in the era of blue blood." — Banquet replies. "We can only hope that once the lords understand the situation, they will make the right decision."
"Sounds solid. If it comes to a siege, all these actions are necessary. However, for now I'm struggling to visualize what such negotiations with a traitor might look like. I suspect that having gone off the deep end, he may have lost even the most basic notions of honor. You know what I mean, milord," — to his banquet colleague.
"The chance to avoid mass bloodshed is worth such a risk."