At the same time.
Within the Ghost Race council hall, dim firelight cast flickering shadows on the stone walls.
Several elders of the Ghost Race sat encircling a long obsidian table, the atmosphere heavy and grim.
"Great Elder, do you truly intend to let those two ominous ones participate in the tournament? If word spreads, will that not make the other races mock us, saying the Ghost Race has no one worthy?"
An elder, his face wrinkled like dried bark, slammed his hand on the table, voice hoarse and harsh.
"Indeed."
Another elder chimed in, fingers tapping the table in agitation, "Though the Forbidden Land is perilous, but if that human really endures for a day…"
The Great Elder sat firmly at the head, fingers lightly caressing the armrest, the corner of his lips curling into a cruel sneer:
"Participate in the tournament? Wishful thinking!"
His venomous gaze swept over all present, his voice ice-cold as frozen steel:
