The fist, carrying the force of the wind, swept past Connor's blocking arm and smashed into his chest, causing him to cough up blood, stumbling back several steps before regaining his balance.
"Your Highness, forgive me."
Hel withdrew his fist, standing in the hall with a slightly bowed head, admitting fault.
But Connor heard not a trace of apology in his voice.
In fact, nobody here regarded him with respect.
Hel was already the better one; when others looked at him, their expressions were full of doubt and disdain.
Everyone probably still preferred the original Prince, expressing their dissatisfaction with this abruptly appearing, impure-blooded Prince.
Connor couldn't fathom what kind of person the original Prince was; could his combat skills be even better than Hel's?
