"I don't think so," he said coolly. "We haven't negotiated. Or do you expect me to just hand it over? I could simply walk in there... with my people."
His words rang out—bold, unflinching, and echoing with authority.
The crowd froze in hushed tension. Several Emperor-level figures frowned, their expressions growing cold and unreadable.
The air, once tense, now trembled on the edge of eruption.
"What do you mean?" one of the Emperor-level figures asked sharply, all eyes fixated on Drakion.
"You heard me right," Drakion replied, voice firm and unwavering.
The crowd stirred in disbelief. Shock rippled through them—what gave Drakion the audacity to speak to an Emperor-level figure like that, when he was only at the Origin King Realm? Did he not realize he was but an ant before these towering powers?
The man who had spoken—a figure with brown hair and eyes that had now turned icy—stepped forward, his expression chilling.
