"—The Tournament of Gods."
The moment those words left Odinvaldr's lips, the atmosphere in the hall shifted.
Vlad, Overlord, the White Death, and the others narrowed their eyes almost instinctively. A solemn expression settled over their faces as they exchanged brief glances, silently acknowledging the weight behind that name. They had already witnessed the overwhelming power of the Divine Realm, and even without meeting the other Primordial Gods, they could imagine the terrifying might of its greatest beings.
If Odinvaldr was the standard, then the rest would not be far behind.
Even working together, defeating a Primordial God was not something any of them could confidently claim to achieve. Yet none of them spoke. None of them rushed to conclusions. Instead, they remained silent, their focus returning to the ancient figure before them.
Odinvaldr took a slow, measured breath, and a grave expression appeared on his face.
