Volk's jaw clenched as the chieftain's words echoed in his ears.
His muscles tensed with the weight of a decision he never thought he'd have to make.
He had always respected the older generation even in his past life, had even tried to understand their ways, but this—this was different.
The chieftain was pushing him too far, trying to cling to power and traditions that no longer made sense.
Without thinking, Volk stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. His voice was calm, but the undercurrent of anger was unmistakable.
"Look, old one," he began, his words dripping with contempt, "you've suppressed your body and mana, and you're still injured. I don't want to fight such weakness."
The chieftain's face contorted in fury, but Volk didn't stop. "Rest for now," he continued, his voice growing sharper. "Wait for me. I'll give you a quick death when I return. If becoming chieftain is what you want me to do, I'll take that title from you without breaking a sweat."
