"You've disabled guild chat."
"You've disabled private messaging."
Usher's eyes were cold and razor-sharp.
He shut out every distraction, surrendering his mind entirely to the primal rhythm of battle and the grip of his longbow.
"I, Usher, challenge you to a one-on-one duel!" he declared, his voice deep and thunderous, brimming with unshakable resolve.
"Orgod! Do you dare accept?!"
Victory or defeat—this would define everything.
"You're wasting time putting on a show," Orson replied flatly, casually peeling back the motive behind Usher's theatrics. "Three and a half minutes left. Use them wisely."
He wasn't wrong.
Usher needed the world to see. He needed witnesses—to reclaim everything he had once lost in front of countless players.
Now, he had to prove he could win it back.
Orson had promised not to use his mount.
And given how absurdly broken the Crimson Lizard King was, that was more than just "pulling punches."
