"Haha, don't be afraid; I will not harm you all, at least not at the moment. But it will depend on your choice." The cloaked leader said with a calm and chilling voice as he was deciding their fate.
The banquet hall fell into a deeper silence.
The cloaked leader's voice echoed softly—but each word struck like a blade on the soul. It wasn't merely the weight of power behind the words—it was the certainty. The finality in his tone. As if fate had already been written, and he was simply informing them of the page they were on.
Even the ancient races who had greeted his arrival with excitement now wore solemn expressions, as though they too understood that what came next would reshape everything.
Apollo's eyes narrowed slightly.
'Hall of Hell… sanctum… traitor…'
He recalled that moment long ago—when his Eternal Sword Rule had moved on its own, sensing a presence that should not exist. And now it moved again.
His fingers tightened briefly on his armrest.
