Hamiel gestured wildly to the broken shards, the destroyed remnants skittering across the floor, his anger simmering just below outright violence.
Yet—Frederick merely shrugged, unfazed by the dwarf's reaction.
With a casual exhale, Frederick raised an eyebrow before responding—
"Why cry over a broken gate?"
His tone carried no remorse, as if the issue was hardly worth addressing.
"Aren't you the head of the Blacksmith Division? And a dwarf, at that? Just forge another one."
The words were said as if they were the most obvious solution in the world, yet all they did was ignite Hamiel's fury even further.
The Dean's arms crossed as she leaned slightly forward, her tone carrying an edge of mockery as she addressed him—
"Why are you here, Old Man Number 'Two'?"
The deliberate emphasis on "Two" carried a sharpness—a blatant jab, one that hung in the air like an unsheathed blade.
Frederick scoffed, his expression barely shifting, before firing back—
