If there were any wind left in Benedict's sails, Gabranth's words effectively suck the rest of it out. He looks appropriately deflated, his shoulders stooped and his face drawn into a miserable frown-- if Edgard hadn't gotten in the way and distracted him, this could be a lot more graceful than it is.

And something about Edgard and Jone bearing witness to this makes it worse, but so be it.

Slowly, Benedict raises his eyes to look into the sockets of Gabranth's helmet. He knows what's coming next.