Ethan stared at Zareth II, the confusion in his eyes deepening by the second.
Calling his own people slaves.
Could a country like that really last?
And on top of that… this "king's" condition was awful.
The golden armor covered him head to toe, yet he moved like a puppet with rusted joints. Even that threat just now had come out in broken pieces—every few words, his arm would tremble again, and he couldn't even keep a steady finger pointed at Ethan.
Ethan couldn't help sizing him up.
Is this guy seriously that… weak?
Maybe he never got a sip of that miracle juice Rhazek had been bragging about.
Zareth II tried to take another step forward.
His body suddenly folded.
A violent cough rattled out from inside the golden helmet.
He froze, one hand covering the mouthpiece. The coughing grew heavier and heavier, like hard objects were clacking together inside his chest.
Ethan stopped too.
