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The two factions’ resolve

The light within the living hall that was occupied at the last minute brightened and then dimmed. Part of the candles’ flames were intentionally extinguished. The dim light illuminated the deep gashes on the wooden floor.

In this remote corner, a silent and chilly atmosphere seemed to fill the air.

The figures that were sitting down could not get used to the light from the remaining candles, but as long as the middle-aged male leader who had a pale face and wore an eye patch did not speak, none of them dared to utter even one sound.

If Sophie was here, he would have probably recognized this man, simply because his appearance did not change much even after a decade. This was the right hand of ‘Black Lord Incirsta’, a vampire lord, the one-eyed Tarkus. He was a member of the Rheinische family, the fourteen generation of vampires. He was considered to be young, but he was a true veteran in the Madara’s army, compared to Incirsta who was like a greenhorn.

But it did not matter to Tarkus. This was merely the beginning of their cooperation with Incirsta.

Tarkus looked at the skeleton soldiers bringing out the stacks of papers and books from the study. He took a moment to watch them before turning back and spoke to the necromancer: “Speak. What report did Rothko want to inform me when he left you behind?”

“Esteemed General Tarkus, my master had found a scout in that manor.” The necromancer bowed his head and answered in a raspy voice.

“And?” He glanced at the necromancer once, and his gaze went back to the strategy map that laid open on the table.

“He escaped.”

Several disdainful laughs rose from the surroundings.

The vampire general lifted his head, and the faint voices were immediately silenced. He paused for a while, before saying: “I understand, Rothko did very well. But I want him to do better the next time and not waste time on these types of needless distractions. I want him to advance to the Beldor forest before noon.”

The necromancer nodded respectfully and left.

But once it left, there were voices of dissent in the room. This time it was a giant skeleton covered in an old brass armor, the a dark yellow flame flitting in its eye sockets with fury:

“Lord Tarkus, it is possible that this scout has discovered our plans–”

It opened and closed its mouth, but the air that escaped from his hyoid bone suddenly ceased. That was because Tarkus was staring at it with his left eye, and made it stop subconsciously.

A burst of quiet laughter erupted around him, and the mockery contained within the laughs, made the flames in his eyes dance with regret.

“Kabias.”

“Yes!” The giant skeleton immediately held his chest high and answered.

“Take this location down.” Tarkus’s fingers pointed to a village on the map.

“Before sunrise,” He pointed to the roof: “I want to see results.”

“Yes, Lord Tarkus.”

“Wesker, Ebdon.”

“Yes!” The two voices replied a

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