"My young friend… death is the only honest currency in politics. The weak bleed. The strong decide who bleeds." His voice carried weight, not loud but firm, shaped by conviction rather than emotion. "You think I enjoyed watching German boys die by the millions? You think it did not tear at my soul?" There was no hesitation in the way he said it, only certainty.
"But I knew… I knew that if we did not act, the world would rot from within. It does not change through gentle words or comforting lies. It changes through will. Through iron. Through fire."
He fell silent for a moment after that, the intensity settling instead of fading, then looked back at Razeal with a different kind of focus less about what had been said, more about what came next.
"Before anything else," he continued, tone shifting slightly, "you must answer something far more important. Is the world you see… even worth changing? What exactly are you trying to fight for?"
