The darkness was thick around the western wing of the academy grounds, shrouding the world in a silence only broken by the occasional flicker of a mana lamp.
Razel and Elias kept moving like ghosts between the buildings, every step calculated, soundless.
They were still following the original intruder who had slipped away during the earlier skirmish, but as they turned a corner, Razel suddenly threw a hand out, stopping Elias.
"Look," he whispered.
Down below, tucked between two tall hedge rows and shielded by a long crescent-shaped wall, nine figures clad in dark robes stood in formation.
Each of them wore jagged black armor etched with faded silver symbols. Their movements were disciplined, coordinated. They weren't just invaders.
They were trained. Ready. Prepped.
And from the glint of golden bands on their arms—Gold Rank.
Razel's eyes narrowed. "They're targeting the Westward section," he muttered.
