The crowd's roar dipped into a strange, electric hush.
Up in the announcer's booth, a figure leaned casually over the ornate railing, his skeletal fingers wrapped around a black-iron microphone.
The figure's hollow eyes swept across the arena before settling on Jack.
Valdoren the Magnificent.
The Lich Lord who had once left Jack bleeding in a forest, mercenaries scattered around him like broken dolls, locked his burning gaze on him and waved.
It was as if he was saying hi to an old friend.
Jack could feel the veins in his forehead about to burst from the rage.
A rush of memories flooded Jack's brain.
The flash of steel as his father defended him.
The burning agony as the blade bit deep, the taste of his own blood as he fought for consciousness while his would-be killers closed in.
The memory of his father losing control and destroying a good chunk of forest in his rage.
[Entity Identified: Valdoren the Magnificent]
[Class: Lich Lord]
[Level: 89]
[Field Boss]
