"Identify yourself!"
A white-skinned man, his face adorned with a large brown moustache, dressed in a red shirt and black leather pants, leveled a revolver at Arlo's forehead.
In an instant, the rest of the crowd followed his lead, brandishing their rifles and revolvers at Hilde and Arlo.
Arlo was taken aback to hear him speaking the Sindri language; a wave of relief washed over him as he realized he could negotiate with them to lower their weapons.
Arlo didn't exactly feel terror at the sight of their guns. The revolvers and rifles, all artifacts of Arlo's past era, were museum pieces when he was in high school, so he knew they were not potent.
One could dodge death if shot from a distance, but at this moment, the revolver was aimed point-blank at Arlo's head. If the man pulled the trigger, Arlo would be no more. It was as simple as that.