“To give credit, Prince Arel fights better than anyone! You a little miss the speed, and he is very fast and powerful. His technique at an incredible level, I've never seen anything like this!”
“He was taught by the finest teachers of the Royal Academy, and then he fought for many years, every day. He's been at war without a break for more than ten years, do you think this will be noticeable?”
“Yeah,” Crassus looked at Arel with delight. He remained completely indifferent to these flattering words and praise, his handsome face didn’t express anything, as if Crassus was not talking about him at all, and Arel didn’t answer Crassus. And Crassus looked at the prince’s face, slightly arrogant in his indifference, only slightly shaking his head:
“After I saw him in battle, I consider the cruel punishment that our King applied to him to be unfair. To make such a good warrior an outcast!” And Crassus thought for a while, but quickly cheered up again, turning to Nikto:
“Well, what about you?! Tell me why do you look so girlish?!”
“Crassus!” Vitor Kors, who was sitting next to him, threw a glance at him of not eyes, but lightning.
Nikto, having heard such a comparison, at first was a little taken aback, but didn’t get angry at all, and then laughed sincerely:
“Because I am a white half-blood.”
Crassus laughed contentedly too:
“Was your mother white?”
“Yes. Mother is white, father is black,” Nikto answered, he looked at Kors, barely holding back a laugh. Kors suffered with the last bit of strength.
“Was she a slave?” Crassus asked. “All whites are slaves. Are you the son of a white slave and a black master?”
“I don't know for sure, I'm an orphan.”
“Why are you called the Son of the Devil? What is devilish about you?”
“My adoptive mother was a witch.”
“Come on! What was her name? When I was young, I had an affair with a young witch, oh… I still can't forget her!”
“Crassus!” Kors couldn’t restrain himself.
“What's wrong, Vitor? It's just a friendly conversation! Son of the Devil, you are like a girl, but do you have a girl?”
“I have a wife.”
“Come on! What about children?”
“I’ve got everything,” Nikto smiled.
And Vitor Kors looked at him, widening his eyes in surprise:
“I beg your pardon,” he said hastily, “I need to go out for a while…” And Kors got up and headed towards the stairs to the second floor, while in his thoughts he very clearly repeated the request that Nikto should come to him. Kors climbed the stairs to the gallery and looked down at the celebration. After a while, Nikto got up and left the hall, but it was clear that he heard Kors and would now approach him.