The matter of Archimonde weighed heavily on Rex's heart. For several days, his complexion had been poor, and he wore a frown no matter whom he met.
If Medivh came to Gilneas again to persuade people in his role as a prophet, he would likely find a much more receptive audience. After the earth-shaking change two days earlier, all he would need to do was go with the flow.
Rex stood in the courtyard, quietly stroking the Ashbringer. He was adjusting his mindset.
Yes.
He was adjusting his mindset.
The pressure Archimonde had brought, that utterly overwhelming presence, had affected Rex deeply. If he could not free himself from its grip, the consequences would be severe. At best, Rex would never improve again, his strength remaining at mid-hero for the rest of his life. At worst, his fighting spirit would be stripped away. If he actually faced Archimonde, he would not even need to fight before an inner demon arose and broke him. Archimonde would then need only raise a hand to take Rex's life.
Thus, over the past few days, after sending Baron Ailiboxu a magical message urging him to hurry, Rex had devoted himself to tempering his mental state.
For Rex, this was a crisis, but it was also an opportunity. Since ancient times, opportunity and danger had always gone hand in hand. As long as one survived a crisis, unexpected rewards could follow. If Rex successfully shook off Archimonde's influence this time, it would be no exaggeration to say that this ordeal would blast open the door to late-hero. In the future, once the Holy Light within him gradually increased to a sufficient level, he would be able to advance steadily to late-hero strength. Of course, all of that depended on Rex overcoming this hurdle.
Rex's eyes