Makareth chose his words with surgical precision. When he spoke of "you Archlords," he deliberately excluded himself.
He held too many trump cards to be lumped in with the rank and file. Having successfully ascended, Makareth was itching to test his new limits. He didn't want a peer; he wanted to clash steel with the projection of a Demigod.
"If the enemy sends reinforcements, I will hold the line against one Archlord."
The voice was sharp, cutting through the tension. Isabella stood tall, clad in fitted combat leathers that accentuated her lethal grace. She looked every inch a Valkyrie.
She was at the peak of the Legendary rank, yet she was volunteering to stall an Archlord. It was a suicidal declaration that earned her the immediate respect of the room.
Most remained silent. Since her arrival, Isabella had worn a mask of icy approachability, a sign that said keep away.
"Sis, are you sure you can handle that?"
