Turning his head to get a better view, he gazed towards the source of the voice. While the sight surprised him, it made much more sense than some of the other people and creatures he had already witnessed battling amidst the field. Pushing against the ground, Roas slowly stood up. His armor clanked together as he moved, the thick sound of metal against metal giving away nearly every twitch he made. The warrior faced the aggressor of fire and spoke with a stout confidence.

"You know, from a tactical standpoint, yelling at your opponent is not the best way to initiate combat. Under normal circumstances, I would call you an arrogant dog for grossly overestimating your knowledge about your target. I hate to assume, but I am sure you know nothing about who I am and what I am capable of, and to say you will boil my insides on the sole grounds that I am the closest person to you makes me assume you are not as strong as you say. That or you are so overwhelmingly powerful that no creature could ever stand a chance of touching you, but if that were the case, I feel like you would've just done it without the need to announce your threats."

With that, Roas reached up with his right arm and gripped the upper hilt of The Dragonslayer, lifting it slightly to detach it from his back, swinging the massive blade forward to point at Flint, raising his left arm to grasp the lower handle as it reached the front. The blade had a slightly gold sheen to it, despite the actual steel looking worn and aged. He held the blade firmly with the precision of nearly two decades of practice. The blade was more than just a weapon to Roas, it was part of his very being, and he knew how to use it as an extension of his body.

"My name is Roas Drasle, World Famous Dragonslayer and Mercenary Commander. I'll give you one chance to back down. I don't want to fight you, but I have the tactical advantage in this battle I will not hesitate to utilize it to its full extent. What's your choice?"