Kuja raises an eyebrow at the honorific, but inclines his head. “Mister Tribal, if you please, or simply Kuja. Now, Corrin. I want you to recall the time your brother was murdered in front of your eyes. The details are not important, but the story and delivery is. The event happened many years ago, now, but the wounds are still fresh in your mind. Tell me how it feels to have no proof, and to be forced to serve the man who slit his throat.”

He gazes over the top of his mug impassively, following such a statement. “The line you are responding to is, ‘You speak high praises of your brother. I should like to meet him, someday.’”