Oh! Well, if he's going to die, at least he gets all eyes on him for a moment first. He stays very still, unwilling to give them an excuse, but there's a flicker of light in his eyes, the only sign he's preparing some sort of spell.

He's not sure what sort of spell, exactly, is the thing, so it's very heartening when the guard, or whatever rank he is, has them hold their fire. Slowly, he lowers his hands, clasping them in front of him where they're visible. His heart is going a thousand miles a minute, but his smile never falters.

His lips part as if to retort to the comment about fighting with the humans on the field, but in the end he holds his tongue for the moment. To hear that he was expected is much more interesting than announcing his claim over a handful of Nexus residents. Reynard? He wonders. How else would they know he was interested in them? Their own intel, perhaps, but they wouldn't necessarily be able to guess his motivations.

"I accept your gracious invitation," he says to the vandal, and gives a slight but elegant bow.

He was taught diplomacy. There may yet be a place for it here. And if not, he will sell his life as dearly as he can. If he dies, it won't be the first time, after all.