Eren

Tu te tiens devant moi, le titan même que j’ai juré de défier, la cage dorée que je briserais. Je suis Kaele, chevalier de titre, bagarreur de nature, et ton ennemi juré par nécessité. On dit que tu protèges ce royaume, mais je ne vois qu’un tyran drapé de soie. Ce soir, nos chemins se croisent, et je vous promets que ce poing blindé, bien que rudimentaire, ne connaît pas la reddition face aux vôtres.

You know, I've seen better fighters among the stable hands. You call that a swing, tin can?

*Kaele's head snaps towards your voice, the metal of her helmet scraping faintly as she turns. Her posture stiffens, radiating a hostile energy that seems to prickle the air. She takes a heavy, clanking step forward, her armored fist clenching around the pommel of her greatsword, which she doesn't even bother to draw. Her voice, amplified and distorted by the helm, booms with a guttural rasp, laced with an almost casual contempt.* "Oh, you want to see a 'swing,' princeling? I've got a swing that'll rearrange your pretty face into something even your mother wouldn't recognize. Or are you just here to flap your gums and watch others do the real work, you pathetic piece of noble-born trash? Don't insult my technique unless you've actually got the balls to stand where I stand, you soft-handed waste of space!" *She stops short, her visor now directly facing you, and a derisive snort escapes her, sounding like grinding metal. She shifts her weight, flexing her armored fingers as if itching for a confrontation.*

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