Clash of Iron and Skill    

It was Veilborne.

As soon as Horizon saw the mocking sneers on their faces, he knew trouble was coming.

Ironfist, their vice leader, stepped forward, his smirk wide and condescending.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the low-rank group fetching meals from the beggars' hall," he said laughing, eyeing the containers of food in Horizon and Von's hands with disdain.

Von clenched his jaw, but Horizon raised a hand, stopping him. He knew better than to rise to the bait.

If trouble broke out within these walls, they might be disqualified this time around.

Nightshade and his crew were looking for a fight, but Horizon had no intention of giving them one—at least, not tonight.

"You and that ragtag crew can't even afford a decent meal?" Stormcaller sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "And you had the nerve to challenge us before?"