Clay stood there as though nothing in front of him deserved urgent attention, his posture relaxed, one hand resting loosely at his side while the other brushed off the dust from his sleeve, his eyes fixed on Borzoi with a calm curiosity that did not match the chaos surrounding them, as if this entire battlefield had turned into nothing more than a stage prepared for his own amusement.
He tilted his head slightly, studying the man before him.
So this is one of them… The Bersuka Tribe… or something close to it.
The body, the aura, the way he speaks… it matches too well.
Even though he already had an idea, he still wanted confirmation.
There was something satisfying about hearing it directly.
Something that made everything feel more real.
Clay's lips curved into a faint smile.
Borzoi, on the other hand, stood frozen for a moment.
The word echoed in his head.
Slave.
