Ethan stood firm, his voice calm.
"You," he said, locking eyes with Kaelrox, "are probably the strongest among them."
He glanced toward the battlefield, where the chaos of war still raged.
"If you fall, the rest will understand the gap."
Then his gaze shifted—right back to the staff in Kaelrox's grip.
"But I'm not planning to kill you."
"There's something you've got that caught my eye in that brief exchange."
His lips curled into a small, almost relaxed smile.
"If you're willing to hand it over," he said casually, "I'll let you live."
On paper, Ethan's aura didn't seem stronger than Kaelrox's. In fact, by raw measurements of power, he looked technically weaker.
But at this exact moment—
Kaelrox didn't feel that way.
Not even close.
Because he could sense it—Ethan's composure wasn't a bluff, and it wasn't arrogance either.
It was control. Absolute, terrifying control.
Kaelrox's pupils tightened.
