"Hunters do tend to do that." He's not sure what else one would hunt. Unless beasts means more than just the local fauna. There's quite the suspicion that this is the case the longer he considers it.

Sylvain glances down when Ashe's steps shift closer. Without considering it might be too forward of him, Sylvain settles a hand on Ashe's shoulder. The underside of his gauntlet is soft, the metal guarding only the top of his hand. It is warm to some extent, but not warm enough for a living human. He keeps it there as long as Ashe allows as he takes him down to the kitchens. The stone is lit by a broad hearth that has never gone out for as long as Sylvain has been here. He's stopped questioning the strange things in this place.

"You can relax, they're only ghosts. Their bodies are long gone, but Irithyll is a place that does not let go of its own. Their ghosts wander the streets and halls, but they don't bother anyone, or even come down here. You're perfectly safe."