The days passed quickly.
When people live in times of war, they lose their sense of time.
Everything happened at a terrifying pace, and everyone could feel themselves slowly approaching the end.
If there was a single word that could describe the state of humanity now, it would be tension.
Every one of them felt it.
They felt that the coming battle... would be the last.
The final battle here on Planet Earth—the battle that would decide their fate.
Never before had humanity been this close to victory.
All they had to do now was defeat the forces of the demons, led by the Host of Nightmares, Amon, along with the remaining Ultras who still followed him.
The morale within the Shadow Sect had improved greatly after Frey’s tremendous victory against Thanatos.
His presence alone among them gave them hope and strength to keep moving forward, no matter how weak some of them might be.
The soldiers trained relentlessly.
They prepared themselves to fight to the death.
They were fully aware that their role in the coming battle would be extremely limited.
The outcome would be decided by the SSS-rank warriors, not them.
An ordinary soldier would die simply from the shockwaves produced by the clash of those monsters.
Yet the surviving soldiers of the Empire possessed enough determination to participate regardless.
Some sought revenge.
Others simply wanted to contribute—even if it meant killing a single enemy soldier and giving themselves the feeling that they had done something meaningful.
And some had become so obsessed with Frey’s name that they were prepared to follow him straight into hell if necessary.
The former Temple students were active as well.
They often interacted with the other hero standing beside Frey—Snow Lionheart.
Snow had always remained at the forefront.
Unlike his darker counterpart, who had begun to prefer the shadows.
Ever since the last war against Wesker and the Ultras, Frey had not shown his face to his old companions even once.
They all wondered, from time to time—
Where was he?
What was he doing?
No one could predict him anymore.
He had begun operating on an entirely different level... almost as if he had become a completely different person.
After the battle with Thanatos, Frey stepped away entirely from leadership, leaving it to Gehrman and the other human champions.
He treated himself as nothing more than a weapon of war, preferring to operate alone whenever possible.
Then one night ..
While darkness blanketed the land and the Shadow Sect had grown quiet in those late hours ...
Frey appeared in one of the Sect’s darker corners, wandering between its buildings with his hands tucked into the pockets of his long black coat.
His clothing concealed his entire body and skin.
He even wore black leather gloves to hide his hands.
The only things visible were his pale face and his hair, which had now taken on a grayish tone.
His dark eyes had grown even darker.
Faint shadows lingered beneath them.
His expression revealed no emotion.
It was completely still.
Completely cold.
He walked for some time until he reached one of the Sect’s more distinctive buildings.
Without hesitation, he stepped inside.
The moment he crossed the entrance, it became clear that the structure led deeper underground through a long descending staircase.
A hidden place buried within the shadows.
As he walked down the stairs, a faint smile appeared on Frey’s face.
"Hiding within the folds of the shadows... it suits him perfectly."
He continued downward until he reached a black stone door.
Beside it sat a tall, strangely shaped man.
Before the door stood a massive dark statue, its expression twisted in rage.
The seated figure slowly raised his head toward Frey, staring at him with those glass-like eyes.
Then he bowed slightly.
"Welcome, my lord. Forgive me—I did not expect your presence."
It was Adir, the fourth member within the Shadow Sect.
He displayed deep respect toward Frey.
Seeing this, Frey smiled wryly.
"Raise your head. I am not your Lord."
"Your respect would only be wasted on someone like me."
"Even if you are merely a vessel, Frey Starlight," Adir replied firmly, refusing to change his stance.
"That does not change the fact that you are all that remains of our lord."
"Please do not be troubled by how we treat you."
Frey studied him for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Do as you wish. It’s your choice."
He shifted his attention toward the door.
"How is he?"
There was genuine interest in Frey’s voice.
Adir answered immediately, turning his head toward the door as well.
"He is doing well. However, I cannot say whether he will be ready for the coming battle—no matter how fast his progress has been."
"It’s fine if he isn’t ready," Frey replied calmly.
"He doesn’t have to fight."
Then he added quietly:
"I don’t want to be forced to use him as well."
Frey narrowed his eyes slightly, staring into the empty space before him with an expression that carried a strange emptiness.
Adir watched him for a while before speaking again.
"Some may treat you as nothing more than a vessel..."
"But you possess the same eyes now, as you know."
Frey chuckled softly.
"So that means I’m starting to turn into an emotionless machine."
He stepped forward and pushed the door open.
"And I doubt that’s a fate I would prefer."
He walked inside without bothering to seek permission from Adir and Angry, who guarded the entrance.
Neither of them tried to stop him.
And even if they had wanted to, they would not have been able to—the difference in power between them was simply too great.
After Frey disappeared inside, Adir raised his long arm and looked at it silently.
His vessel was in the worst condition it had ever been in since his battle against Wesker.
So damaged that he would not be able to fight again until it was repaired.
The only one in a similar state was Gehrman, who had pushed himself far too hard during the last battle.
The Shadow Sect would be missing both of them in the coming battle, which cost it a significant portion of its combat strength. The only one who still maintained his full power was Fulghor.
Unlike the others, Fulghor had never died—he retained his original body.
He was one of the few who had followed Nameless willingly, without ever being resurrected by him.
The coming battle would depend on only a small number of elite warriors, and perhaps the most important among them was Frey, who would most likely be placed in direct confrontation with the strongest opponent on the other side.
"It will be a difficult battle..." Adir muttered to himself.
Meanwhile, Angry remained silent as usual.
Both of them awaited the coming conflict with deep tension and unease.
Frey, on the other hand, continued deeper inside.
Before him, a vast empty space was revealed.
An entire underground area stretched before him, scattered with glowing blue flowers and others that shone in a deep crimson red.
It was a strange and surreal place, one that made him pause in surprise for a moment, wondering how such flowers could grow beneath the earth.
But his attention quickly shifted toward the figure seated in the distance at the center of the chamber.
A young man—about Frey’s age.
Black-haired.
And noticeably leaner than Frey himself.
Someone he had not seen for quite some time.