Ragnar's gut twisted tighter with every passing second.
If before he only suspected that Ren wanted him dead—now he was absolutely sure.
Ren didn't even try to hide it.
"You're an Orc," Ren said casually, but there was a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes. "Your STR's enough to carry two people if they fall behind. You'll manage."
Ragnar's jaw tightened. Ren's reasoning made sense, but that chuckle behind his words told another story.
Ren almost laughed. Nothing personal, he thought. The sooner you're out of my way, the better.
He lifted his staff, the black crystal core at its tip pulsing like a heart. Flames began to coil around it as his mana surged.
"Ready?" Ren asked, his tone deceptively calm.
Rox's eyes widened when he recognized the weapon. "[Infernal Staff]?! N-now? Wait—"
"At the count of three," Ren interrupted, voice flat. "One…"
"W-wait, hold up!" Roxy squeaked, waving her hands. "Can we at least— I don't know—mentally prepare first?"
"Two."
"Oh gods—"
