Declare War?

"Where’s the Shaman?" Werner slammed his fist on the table, frustrated with the endless waiting. "He said he wants to talk, but he’s not here. What’s he doing? Toying with us?"

Behind the round table was an empty chair. Behind the empty chair was an older man. Hearing Werner’s voice, the man known as Ghosthand just glanced at him, uncaring. "You can leave if you don’t want to wait," he said. "No one’s forcing you to be here, but know that the moment you walk out the door, you’ll be the Shaman’s enemy."

"He still thinks he’s the Dark King?" Werner scoffed, his expression scornful. "Don’t think we don’t know that Shaman has already been back for so long, but he still doesn’t have anyone under him! If I were him, I’d really thank you. If you weren’t such a loyal dog, he’d be a one-man band!" Beside him, Alberto and Silo had similar mocking smiles on their faces.