The next day, Count Morveth and Baron Zathrek departed from Grimveil City.
They did not travel with ceremony.
Only a small escort of elites and Velkyr moving ahead to keep the road clear.
The land outside the city was silent, the ground dark and uneven from long exposure to demonic mana.
Zathrek walked half a step behind Morveth, his posture stiff.
He did not speak.
The pressure coming from the Count made every movement feel heavier than usual.
They had gone only part of the way when the air suddenly shifted.
Velkyr slowed.
"…Stop," he said quietly.
The escort halted.
Ahead of them, standing alone in the middle of the road, was a single figure.
No visible killing intent.
Just someone standing there casually, hands in his pockets, blocking the path like it was nothing.
Zathrek's eyes narrowed.
Morveth stopped as well. His gaze locked onto the figure ahead.
The pressure around him sharpened slightly.
"…Troublesome," Morveth said.
