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“Why have you dragged us down here?” Ferra said. “Can’t match us physically, so reckon you’ll prove yourself the big man with guns? Pathetic!”
His cadre smiled as Ferra grinned at them.
Rodin stood by the table he’d dragged through from the armoury, on which he’d already arranged the weapons. The warriors had eyed them, some with excitement, others with nervousness, but many with indifference.
“I don’t like using guns,” Rodin said—and noted the confused looks from a couple of the warriors. “But others do. Once you’ve completed training—whenever Machivelle decides that is—you’re going to come across those who hide behind weapons like this. So you need to understand them.” He shrugged. “Assuming you want to be the best you can.”
It was an obvious dig at Ferra, and the m
