Chapter 133 - THE TRAITOR’S MASK

The darkness inside the grand strategy chamber of the Blackfang Fortress was not merely the absence of light; it was a physical weight, a dense, suffocating blanket that smelled of dried ink, old blood, and frozen iron. Outside, the crimson sky pulsed with the rhythmic cadence of a dying world's heartbeat, casting long, bloody shadows through the high narrow windows. The Great Hall, which had once echoed with the fierce, booming laughter of Lycan Alphas and the refined debates of the Southern Courts, had shrunk into a silent, high-tension bunker.