Trent was both confused and bewildered. 'What does he mean by that?' he questioned internally, peering into the Dark Magus' eyes, trying to gauge whether the male was mentally sound. But the Dark Magus appeared deadly serious—he wanted Trent to succeed him, to become the next Dark Magus.
Trent opened his mouth to respond, but a sharp wave of pain shot through him once again, forcing an immediate grunt from his lips. 'So much for being healed by Dark Sorcery. I'm never letting this happen again,' he cursed silently, clutching his side while wincing in agony, attempting to subdue the pain that raged within.
"So, you accept, Nightingale? You are ready to embrace this role?" the Dark Magus asked.
Trent lifted his head and shot him a stern, irritated glare. "What the hell do you mean, am I ready to take this role? Why in the entire Paradox would I ever want to become the Dark Magus?" Trent snapped back sharply.
"So, you are refusing, then?"