The Right thing to do...
Tycondrius nodded thoughtfully.
Guorthigirn made a good point.
And thus it followed... giving a speech was, in fact, appropriate.
For those about to die... he would send them off as best he could.
"Crystal Core, this is Godslayer."
It was the callsign of their Operations Tent, so named for the Dungeon Core that powered Whitehearth's communications line.
["Go ahead? Sir?"] Sindal answered.
"Transmit my voice on open comms."
["R-roger that, Godslayer. You're on... now."]
Tycon took a deep breath...
His heart was pounding and his mana circulation was erratic.
He was strangely nervous.
But why? For suddenly being asked to speak to 60,000 sentients?
He wasn't afraid of them. They posed no threat to his life-- far unlike the god-beast he tasked himself with hunting.
That he was suddenly and nonsensically anxious... annoyed him greatly.
