Inside a grand hall, seven kings and queens convened around a formidable table, their gazes locked in tense anticipation. The air crackled with a palpable energy, a mix of urgency and skepticism.
"So, Arthur, if I understand correctly, an army of undead is marching towards your continent with the intent to annihilate it, isn't that right?" One of the kings rose from his seat, a mocking smile etched on his face. King Alfred, known for his sharp wit and cunning, relished the opportunity to provoke.
"King Alfred, I hold you in high regard, but I've already stated this multiple times in the past two hours... I don't have the fucking time to repeat myself, again and again." A man, around 58 years old, with vibrant green hair and piercing green eyes, spoke with a touch of weariness in his voice. He was none other than King Arthur, the resolute ruler of the continent that Anon called home.
