Leon scratched the back of his head, letting some sheepishness into his expression that wasn’t entirely manufactured.

"Well," he said, "I’m just relieved to be safe."

Orat stopped walking.

The rest of the party stopped with him, the movement rippling backward through the group in the way that happened when people were attuned to their leader’s shifts without needing to be told to pay attention to them.

The easy pace of a moment ago was gone. The atmosphere that had been sitting comfortably around the group as they moved through the trees changed character entirely, something heavier and more deliberate replacing it, pressing into the space between everyone present.

And then the bloodlust came, seeping outward from Orat in a slow and controlled emanation that made the air feel different against Leon’s skin.

Orat turned to face him fully, and his expression had shed everything casual about it.

"Somehow," he said quietly, his eyes fixed on Leon with an attention that had a sharp edge running all the way through it, "I don’t believe that."

Leon was a bit surprised by Orat’s words—not because he hadn’t expected the man to be suspicious, but because of how quickly the easy, careless facade of the party leader had shattered.

The transition from casual banter to a pointed, dangerous scrutiny had happened in the span of a single breath.

Leon widened his eyes slightly, forcing a look of mild confusion onto his face to mask the sharp calculation running through his mind.

He took a half-step back, lowering his shoulders to make himself look smaller, less threatening.

"What do you mean?" Leon asked, his voice steady but carrying a deliberate touch of nervousness. "What do you mean by that, Sir Orat?"

Orat didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he simply stared at Leon, his eyes tracking the slight movement of Leon’s retreat with the patient intensity of a predator watching a cornered animal.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating, until Orat finally clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

The sharp, irritating sound cut through the quiet of the woods like a whip crack.

"Do you think I’m a fool, Leon?" Orat asked, his voice dropping an octave, losing every trace of its previous warmth. "Do you honestly look at me and think I’m some kind of idiot?"

He didn’t wait for Leon to respond. A low, mocking chuckle bubbled up from Orat’s throat, a sound completely devoid of actual humor. It was a cruel, grating laugh that made the air feel even more restrictive.

"I know exactly who you are," Orat continued, shaking his head slowly as if amused by the sheer audacity of Leon’s attempt to play dumb.

"I know your face. I know your background. You’re the trash that got kicked out of the Allistar family. The disgraced burden they couldn’t wait to throw away into the streets."

Leon’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his mouth shut, letting Orat speak.

"And after they dumped you," Orat said, his chuckle turning into a wider, uglier smirk, "you ended up serving as a useless porter under that idiotic prick, Ran."

As Orat spoke, the other members of his party began to shift their weight, moving closer to circle around the perimeter.

They didn’t speak, but their expressions grew hard and mocking.

One by one, the party members nodded in unison with Orat’s words, their eyes filled with a shared, casual contempt for the weak porter standing before them.

To them, Leon’s history was a joke, a well-known piece of gossip that only solidified how worthless he was in the grand scheme of things.

Orat took a step forward, closing the distance between them.

As he stopped right in front of Leon, the physical contrast between the two became stark.

Orat was noticeably shorter, his frame stocky but compact, forced to look upward to meet Leon’s gaze.

The height difference made the scene look almost funny from an outside perspective—a shorter man aggressively towering over a taller one through sheer presence and intent alone.

Yet, despite the comical nature of the gap, the raw bloodlust rolling off Orat ensured that no one present was laughing.

"Now, I don’t care about that prick Ran," Orat said, spitting onto the grass to emphasize his disgust. "He thinks he’s hot shit just because he awakened an A-rank talent. Hmph, As if an A-rank talent makes him untouchable in a world like this."

Orat leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing into thin, lethal slits as he focused entirely on Leon’s face.

"But what I don’t like," Orat hissed, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper that vibrated with genuine malice, "is when someone tries to hide things from me. I especially hate it when a worthless piece of garbage like you tries to pretend like I’m stupid! Like I can’t see what’s right in front of my own eyes."

Before Leon could even attempt to defuse the situation, another sound broke the tension from behind him. A loud, dismissive scoff echoed through the trees.

This time, it wasn’t Orat. It was another man from the team, a massive warrior whose shadow fell heavily over Leon from the rear.

The tall warrior came up right behind Leon, his massive presence looming like a wall, cutting off the sunlight and casting Leon into darkness. He leaned down slightly, his breath hot against the back of Leon’s neck.

"Kiddo," the tall man said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that carried a heavy layer of greed. "We’re absolutely sure you got some rewards from that dungeon. A weak, pathetic little porter like you doesn’t just walk out of a place like that with a look like the one you had on your face."

The man took another step closer, his armor clanking softly, pressing the physical intimidation to its absolute limit.

"Useless as you may be," the tall warrior sneered, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon, "you’re still the porter. And when things go south, people like Ran are lazy. They probably left the dungeon’s treasure entirely to you to carry out."