"I need some time to think it over," Randor finally said.
"Time?" I echoed, frowning. "I was hoping to get the weapon before the Utopian War kicks off."
Randor grimaced at my impatience. "You speak as though my answer is inevitably yes."
"You heard me. The war won't fight itself."
His eyes narrowed. "Your words drip with arrogance, young man. You're speaking as if your mere participation is enough to alter the outcome of the war," he scoffed.
"First off, I'm not just 'speaking as if'—I'm telling you, with certainty, that I can change the course of this war. Secondly, I have no intention of fighting to protect people who stood by while my mother suffered. Unfortunately, there are a few people I care about on this cursed island, so I'll intervene only if their lives are at risk."
Randor stared at me, momentarily speechless, trying to process the brazenness of my declaration.
"What?" I asked, breaking the silence.
