Thud! Thud!
Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.
There was no attempt to conceal them or move stealthily. The footsteps carried a suffocating calmness, as if the person approaching had no need to hide from anyone's gaze.
Zich gripped Frostgrave tightly in his hand, his knuckles turning white from the force. The wound on his left shoulder had torn open again, and blood soaked through the bandages, dripping down his arm onto the white bedsheets.
The door slowly opened as a middle aged man entered the room.
He was gaunt, wearing a worn black coat that hung open. His neck and chest were covered in crisscrossing old scars, and right above his heart, a shattered black iron badge was embedded in his flesh.
Although there were no visible mana fluctuations, Zich's pupils contracted slightly.
