[Ardyn's eyes track every small twitch, every movement. He is ready to give chase if the other flees, with that skull held deftly in hand. He takes note of his hands, and at the words presented to him, scoffs loudly.]

You ask so quickly, without preamble, without mere explanation.

[The hand not clenched around the sword motions idly in his direction.]

What should I agree out of? Good faith? What a lark. Why should I trust you? You, who claims to be creating a distraction that you've yet to explain.