Far from the training grounds Frey and Abraham had claimed for themselves, the Shadow Sect continued to grow larger with every passing day.
Under Frey’s direct orders, Maskith spread the Gift among all of its followers.
Maskith was, by all rights, a servant of the First Writer. Yet his heart belonged to her son now, leaving the old man incapable of doing anything except obeying him.
Using his mastery and profound understanding of the Law of Life and Death, the ancient elder engraved the seal upon the chests of every werewolf warrior who had been recruited into the Sect.
And all of it unfolded beneath the watchful eyes of two great warriors observing him from afar.
Alexander Rybak and Fulghor sat together silently after the earlier meeting they had shared with Frey.
Among the two, Alexander’s blue eyes never left Maskith for even a moment. They looked less like eyes and more like sharpened blades digging into the old man’s back.
Naturally, Maskith sensed that hostility clearly, yet he ignored it entirely. Exhaustion was written all over his face.
He was a man who had lost his heart... and had been forced to work day and night ever since.
Beside Alexander, the gigantic Fulghor watched in silence before eventually letting out a faint sigh.
Fulghor was an enormous being of overwhelming height, so massive that even the great castle itself failed to conceal him properly. The hall where he had met with Frey earlier was the only structure built large enough to accommodate his presence.
The moment he stepped outside it, he became too large to remain indoors at all, forcing him to stay beneath the open sky at all times.
At first, the werewolves had been terrified of him.
His centaur-like appearance, the black armor adorned with golden patterns, and those glowing golden eyes shining from within the gaps of his helmet made him appear utterly monstrous.
"I see you still carry hostility in your heart toward the former Duke of Hell, Alexander." Fulghor finally said in his deep, rough voice.
Alexander folded his arms across his chest, his gaze still fixed upon Maskith as he answered coldly:
"My instincts tell me that old man is not our ally... and never will be."
Fulghor slowly shook his head.
"Whether he is an ally or not, our king chose to keep him beside us. He understands better than any of us."
Then his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Or do you doubt his judgment?"
"Are you mocking me, Fulghor?" Alexander growled through clenched teeth.
Fulghor lowered his head slightly in apology.
"...Perhaps I went too far. Accept my apology."
Loyalty within the Shadow Sect was absolute. High-ranking figures like Fulghor and Alexander never tolerated any form of doubt or contradiction toward their king.
That was why Alexander had taken those words as an insult. Had it not been for their long history as comrades and allies fighting for the same cause, the two might have clashed already.
"I believe in the king." Alexander said firmly, finally shifting his attention away from Maskith.
"I would follow him to the end of the world if necessary. I harbor no doubts regarding his decisions, and the fact that I still haven’t killed that bastard proves it well enough."
His eyes darkened slightly afterward.
"But tolerating him and accepting him are two completely different matters."
"I cannot force myself to treat him warmly. I have never acknowledged him as one of us."
"He is nothing more than a prisoner... and even the king himself treats him as such."
Fulghor listened quietly before eventually turning his gaze toward the distant horizon.
Then he asked:
"Tell me, old friend... what do you think of the current Shadow Sect?"
"My thoughts?" Alexander repeated. "Which thoughts exactly do you want to hear?"
His eyes swept across the massive werewolf crowds and the grand castle they had built.
"We lost many great warriors." he said quietly.
"...I still can’t believe Gehrman is truly gone. I always thought I would die before he ever did."
For the first time in a while, sorrow surfaced within Alexander’s voice as he spoke of the blue-eyed warrior who had once been both his closest rival and his dearest companion.
"And among the ten strongest members of the Sect..." he continued firmly, "only the Fifth, August, and the Seventh, Shiva, remain alive alongside us. The others are gone."
He paused briefly before adding with absolute certainty:
"And yet despite that... we are undeniably stronger than we were in the past."
"The king... Nameless... has become far stronger than he once was. That alone fills the void left behind by the dead."
Fulghor nodded in agreement.
Both of them knew the current Shadow Sect far surpassed the old one.
Aside from Nameless himself growing stronger, Abraham had joined their ranks, and even Maskith—despite their inability to accept him—was now among them.
Then there was the newcomer, North, whose strength alone easily placed her among the top ten.
Even so...
"...I feel like we’re slowly becoming something completely different from what we used to be." Alexander murmured while staring toward the horizon.
"Something darker."
Fulghor said nothing in response.
He simply watched in silence as well.
Both of them understood it clearly.
The road they had chosen to walk... was unimaginably dark.
The werewolf recruitment ended quickly, and shortly afterward came the next step.
A step that took only a few days before finally being set into motion.
Beneath Hellmond’s crimson skies, where the dark demons that devoured life resided...
A dark purple gate suddenly opened.
And from within it, only two men emerged.
The first was Frey, his face hidden behind his mask.
Behind him came Maskith.
The old man was already familiar with the Demon World, having once been considered part of the Duchy of Hell itself not too long ago.
Frey, however, stood still for a long moment as he silently observed the dead planet before him.
This was his first time seeing Hellmond with his own eyes.
"...So this is the painting of death born from my mother’s words."
Hellmond felt foreign to his world.
Like something that did not belong within it at all.
Frey showed almost no emotion toward the planet itself. Before long, his focus shifted toward a colossal dark tower visible far in the distance.
The tower where the Demon King, Agaroth, had once remained imprisoned for countless years, waiting in silence.
"Let’s go."
Frey had already decided where he was heading.
Maskith followed behind him obediently.
The Shadow Sect was on the verge of invading Hellmond itself... with the intention of tearing it down forever.
For the first time in history.