Titan could faintly recall a time when he just met Neirin, some two-hundred years ago during his service to King Lionel. Since then, he had the privilege of watching him grow into a strong and proud warrior, who would faithfully die for Serenia if it was so required of him. At least that was the impression he got of Neirin. It’d been near a century since they last sparred, and Titan was unsure why he ever distanced himself from the man. Perhaps time simply has a way of breaking even the most seasoned of friendships. “So what will it be Neiren? Swords? Fists? We could wrestle like we used to, see if you’ve improved since the last time I gave you a whooping.” Pulling the claymore from his back, he laid it on the ground before removing the gauntlets from around his fists – followed by his armor. It would only weigh him down, and was an unneeded distraction. He’d only need his hands and his wits to handle this. Perhaps that was his ego talking.
Taking a few cautious steps back, his body contorted forward, bowing respectfully before he bent his knees and hunched. Using his fingers to beckon Neirin closer, he smirked cockily. “Your move.” It wasn’t a question as to whether Neirin had improved, Titan knew he had. Hopefully he would offer a challenge to Titan this time around. Nonetheless, he enjoyed the man’s company. “You know you missed a bit of a scuffle yourself just a few minutes ago. A lycan attempting to sneak his way into the castle. Might be amused to hear of my response.” It was cruel what he did to Torcus, but Titan wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it. Torcus was a bother who needed to be tended to, and if anything, Titan didn’t teleport him far enough. He should have left him in Ravenwall, though the two and a half week ride back would only sour his mood.