Priel's voice echoed through the chamber, carrying a weight both commanding and subtle, the culmination of a silent battle for dominance.
"So consider it a service to both us and countless others, and get rid of this nuisance." Priel said as he handed him a scroll with all the information about his target.
He maintained an air of composure, a mask carefully crafted over years of political maneuvering, but beneath the surface, elation coursed through him like wildfire. This was fate smiling upon him, an intervention of fortune itself.
The Ember of the Dark.
Priel could hardly believe his luck. The man before him was the perfect tool to rid him of a persistent thorn in his side. He hadn't even needed to manipulate the situation—fate had practically delivered this new champion of silver arena to his doorstep, gift-wrapped and ready to be used. This wasn't just about convenience. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. A trade. At least on the surface.