(Third Person POV)
"…I suggest we form a temporary alliance… to catch the White One."
"Agreed."
The response came swiftly, sharp and without hesitation, from Zilfan, who sat across from Orlax.
"Hmm, good. I didn't want to waste time in negotiations."
Orlax crossed one leg over the other, resting his chin on his fist as he watched the man sitting before him with cold, precise eyes—measuring every word and movement.
"I want to catch that bastard at any cost… because he made me bury my own son with my own hands."
Zilfan spoke the words with a voice laced in rage, and an oppressive pressure emanated from his body, nearly suffocating the room. A heavy aura of authority filled the space, making the very walls seem to shrink under the weight of his imperial presence.
'An emperor's presence…? So he has that skill too… Interesting.'
"Very well. You know what you must do."
