Bruce didn't dignify Vale's childish banter with an answer. He had taken several moments to steady his temper and recenter himself. He watched the door that Jenso and Luke had entered close, and he stood in the same place, one hand still on his sheath. Slowly, he turned his neck until his head faced Vale, his eyes half-lidded, his expression almost bored on the surface. But he maintained eye contact for several seconds, unblinking, following every shift Vale restlessly made. In the blink of an eye, Bruce took one of the several spearheads on his waist and thrust it toward the final carving preceding the passage into the next room. The projectile lodged itself into the forehead of one of the looming six men. 
Finally, Bruce turned his head back, facing the door once again. He'd made his statement.