The Commander of Rotalia merely glanced at him through the slit in his Face Armor with a cold, emotionless gaze, as if looking at an insignificant object, before looking away.
Not everyone was like that.
Several other gazes held a more complex scrutiny, as if weighing the truth of the rumors from Ximu Town and just how much of a role this "injured" Northern Governor could play in the upcoming mission.
After all, in the face of the unknowns in the Deep Red Wilderness, any amount of combat strength was precious, even if it might be diminished.
Murphy seemed oblivious to it all, his steps steady as he followed the flow of people toward the hall's entrance.
His face was devoid of any extraneous expression, as if those stares and whispers were merely wind brushing past a cliff, unable to leave the slightest trace.
Just as he was about to step over the threshold of the inner hall, an aged but exceptionally steady voice sounded beside him:
"Governor of Melfield, a moment, please."
