[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/HWXJapd.png[/img]
[h2][b]Cerzelium Orchelas[/b][/h2]
[i]Outside Apartment Workshop, Core District[/i]
[@Phonic][@ManyThings][@Sunglass][/center] 
[hr]
"This looks to be the place, Rider."

His pulse quickened as he looked upon the workshop from the outside, or more specifically, for what it represented. Yes, he could not obtain victory in this war merely by standing at the side and praying for the other competitors to kill one another off. He had to take action, had to seize his victory with his own two hands. 

An Orchelas cannot be evil. But, if he must commit evil to fulfill the family's dreams, if he must stain his hands in the hopes that his descendants might cast off all evils, then there cannot be hesitation. 

A soft exhale left him. No doubt, even though he had yet to cross the boundary line, the Master and Servant within the workshop would certainly have noticed his presence as well as that of Rider by now. In that sense, there could not be hesitation. Even though he was not a true magus, he knew that to attack a magus within their workshop was an act of foolishness; after all, a workshop was where a magus was at their most powerful. Yes, even if both he and his partners had developed countermeasures to such things, it would not do to be overconfident about such things. Every response would need to be measured. Every action would need to be prepared. He did not know if this would become 'a battle to the death', but had to plan for the worst.

The right hand of the elderly man disappeared. Not as if it had simply been hidden away in a pocket, but rather, it seemed to suddenly blink out of place, as through it had been cleanly severed at the wrist.

"My opposition, I ask that you please avoid from contributing to the battle to come, and that your Servant comes forward to engage my own, without risk of damage to either of us."

A voice tinged with melancholy called out, unsure if the magus within would even be able to hear him. What was the person within like? What were their aspirations, their dreams? Had they also never killed before, or were they seasoned, numb to it? Who cared for them? Who would mourn their death? Why did they fight? What did they love? 

"If they do not oblige within a reasonable time..."

His heart pounded in his skull, veins on his right wrist bulging out slightly as he resolved himself.

"...Rider, [i]go[/i]."