"Oh, haha, assholes. If you get caught in the crossfire, call me OJ Simpson - because it wasn't me." Something wrapped around the King's armoured shin, unseen yet still there. It was not a mighty force, perhaps more akin to a metal thread that obstructed a single limb. Yet it was still a hindrance nonetheless, impeding his walk lest he continue and fall. The boy had one finger eye extended nonchalantly from his crossed arms, squinting at the golden man from his position. "So you kill a dude by ramming a sword through his stomach, but you can't even step up to a kid? Sheesh. Tough luck."