The Trial of Iron was a brutal tradition, one long since forgotten. Every dispute was settled with a blade, with only one man left standing.
As time passed, the Church had formed, temples and priests had risen, and society had evolved. The people had been given a cleaner method of conflict resolution. It was the entire reason the Tribunal of Iron had been established.
Yet, a mere seventeen-year-old boy, with snake-like words and the charisma of a preacher, had riled the crowd into a frenzy. Their eyes burned. Their voices shook the hall. They wanted blood.
The Ferran people had been bred in war. It was buried deep in their bones. Now, the Lightning Prince had simply reached in and awakened those instincts.
There was genuine surprise in Ingrid's eyes. The stakes had been against Zephyrion moments before, yet he had somehow turned them against his opponents.
