Iver merely sat there, yet he seemed completely out of place.
All the other Good Lords wore gorgeous robes in light colors, embroidered with gold thread and encrusted with gemstones. Precious jewelry hung from their heads, necks, and hands. Exquisite weapons hung at their waists, while their attendants carried all kinds of equipment as vessels behind them.
Iver alone wore a plain black robe.
He wore no accessories, carried no weapon, and had no armor. It was as though he had merely come here to stroll around, rather than participate in a ritual to summon an Abyss Angel.
"Let's do this, everyone."
Iver said lazily, "I know you don't like the sight of me—and as it happens, I feel the same way about you. So why don't we maintain this mutual dislike? How does that sound? As for all those tedious formalities and the polite exchanges that make us all uncomfortable, let's just skip them."
"—I think that sounds great!"
After a brief silence, Hero Ismayil replied loudly and bluntly.
He looked at Iver with a trace of admiration in his eyes and shouted, "Straight to the point. You've got guts! Now I feel you've got some backbone, unlike those hypocritical, cowardly rabbit ears. I say—old man, why don't we do it this way?"
Ismayil was pretending that he and Iver were not very familiar with each other. At the same time, he was secretly speaking up for Iver.
"...Do not be rude, Hero Ismayil."
The old man was silent for a moment before giving him this perfunctory reply.
He had been watching Iver with complete concentration the entire time.
For some reason...
From the moment he saw Iver, Aymar Nur had felt an indescribable sense of incongruity about him. He always felt as though he had overlooked something important,