Nol’s words were met with a tense silence that put Thomas on edge, his body instinctively ready to strike at the man in black.
The man in black stared coldly at Nol before silently crouching down, picking up Zoran’s head with the black gloves he wore.
He placed it in his storage ring, that was slipped over the glove as if nothing were out of place.
Thomas had no idea how strong the man in black truly was.
He knew, at the very least, that he wasn’t on Zoran’s level—or so he believed.
But there was something off.
His battle sense failed to give him any real sense of the man’s strength.
He knew Zoran, a Heptarch, was higher in rank within Neo Genesis, but strength didn’t seem to dictate everything there.
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If Azriel had been offered a position as a Heptarch, then power alone wasn’t the only factor.
For all he knew, this man could be stronger than Zoran—who was a grade 2 saint, like Solomon.
Suddenly, as Thomas squinted, he noticed something.
‘What…!’
His breath hitched, and a cold realization crept over him—something that answered the nagging questions he had about the man in black.
Something that made his blood run cold.
Goosebumps prickled across his skin as his body turned pale.
The man in black looked toward Thomas, his lips curling into a slight, mischievous grin, like someone who had been caught.
He was caught.
Thomas raised his greatsword, positioning it in front of him.
Nol, noticing the shift in tension, glanced between the two, confused.
But Nol was sharp.
Quietly, he took a few cautious steps back, eyes darting between Thomas and the man.
“I will be taking my leave now. Thank you for your time, Sir Nol, Grandmaster Thomas.”
The man in black spoke softly, then turned his back and began walking toward the edge of the rooftop.
Thomas’ eyes widened as he watched the man casually distance himself.
His back grew smaller with each step.
Just as Thomas was about to act, the man in black stopped.
Without turning fully, he looked over his shoulder, his voice cold as he spoke.
“If you and I were to fight right now… I would win.”
The words hung in the air like a threat.
Thomas’ expression darkened, but he hesitated.
Not because he feared losing.
No, that wasn’t it.
He knew this man could fight him, and if they did, the chaos that would follow would spiral out of control.
It wasn’t worth the risk. Not here. Not now.
The situation was too unfavorable.
So all Thomas could do was watch as the man in black jumped from the roof, disappearing before their eyes.
Thomas rushed to the edge, peering down.
But… there was nothing. He was gone. Vanished into the cold night.
Thomas turned to Nol, who wore a grim expression.
“…What did you find out?” Nol asked.
Thomas hesitated, his gaze shifting to the streets below. His voice was low, dark.
“That man… is no human.”
Thomas gritted his teeth, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.
“It’s a Grade 3 Titan… a skinwalker.”
*****
An entire day had passed since Azriel had fallen asleep and woken up again.
The chaos in the sacred capital had subsided, but that didn’t mean the citizens were no longer afraid.
Most of the heroes from various guilds, who had arrived first, had either started to retreat or were guarding the tents, all due to the presence of Azriel, Celestina, and Jasmine.
Government soldiers continued patrolling the capital, vigilant in case of further enemy attacks.
Azriel sat on his bed, his gaze fixed on Freya, who sat in a chair across from him, staring back coldly.
She was seated with her legs crossed, wearing a black dress.
The dress was simple yet commanding, with stiff fabric that wrapped around her like a second skin, its texture rough and devoid of elegance—suited for someone who prioritized battle over beauty.
Her rose-colored eyes were narrowed at him.
Any other man might have thanked the gods for having such a figure before him, but Azriel was different.
He looked at her with a dark expression.
“Are you here to admire your prince, or do you actually plan on saying something?”
Azriel asked, breaking the silence, sitting up straighter, his back now rigid.
Freya’s eyes sharpened further at his harsh tone.
But Azriel had his reasons—the pressure she was emitting made him feel uneasy.
He was still exhausted, hoping to finally catch a break after everything had gone, if not perfectly, then at least as he had planned.
His right hand, reattached but still wrapped in bandages, throbbed slightly.
The healer had advised keeping the bandages on for two weeks, though Azriel didn’t fully understand why, given that he could already move his hand with ease.
Still, he had complied.
Jasmine had retired to a private tent to get some much-needed sleep, and Freya, of course, had seized the opportunity to approach him while they were alone.
Before she could speak, Azriel interrupted again.
“And suppress that aura. I’m not your enemy, nor am I a subordinate you need to intimidate.”
Freya’s eyes stayed locked on him, analyzing his face, noticing the discomfort he was attempting to hide.
Her lips twitched, nearly curving into a smile, amused by the reaction of the usually composed prince.
‘I shouldn’t push my luck… Our relationship is already at rock bottom.’
Eventually, Freya withdrew her aura, and Azriel let out an audible sigh of relief.
Had it been anyone else, Freya might have taken their life on the spot, but Azriel wasn’t just anyone.
He was a prince—though not the heir—and clearly favored by the Crimson Clan.
Besides, if she were to attack him now, there would be no escape.
The soldiers outside had seen her enter his tent alone, and even if she killed them too, the trail would eventually lead back to her.
The great clans were not to be underestimated.
Freya knew firsthand how terrifying they could be.
When Freya finally spoke, her tone was as cold as a blade poised to strike.
“Three hundred and nineteen people died in Neo Genesis’s attack. Among them were ninety-four women, twenty-six children, and the rest men.”
The air grew colder as Azriel stared back at her with a dark, unreadable expression.
“Their deaths could have been avoided if you and Solomon had simply followed the plan,” Freya continued.
“But instead, the two of you had your own agenda and didn’t even bother informing us when I assigned you the mission.”
Disobeying a mission usually carried severe consequences, but Freya couldn’t enforce anything here—not when Azriel had gambled and won.
He was responsible for the death of a Heptarch, a feat already stirring rumors across the Sacred Capital and soon, the entire world.
It was inevitable that the Crimson Clan would claim this victory under Azriel’s name.
This would be Azriel Crimson’s first official achievement as a prince: the slaying of a Heptarch.
Azriel’s voice softened as he responded.
“I don’t trust you. I didn’t trust Instructor Salvator, or Instructor Juliet, or Instructor Ranni. I only trusted Solomon. If the price for killing someone like Zoran was the deaths of 319 people, then I think I got lucky. Keeping him alive would have led to far greater tragedy.”
He continued.
“As for those 319 people, if you want me to mourn them, I’m sorry, but I won’t. I don’t deserve to. But if it would make you feel better, you can give me their names and faces, and I’ll carry them with me for the rest of my life.”
A heavy pause hung in the air between them.
The mood was solemn, and Freya, though listening to his words, knew he was right. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
If not for Azriel’s warning about Neo Genesis’s plan to attack the Void Dungeon and their spies within the academy, the death toll would have been far worse.
In essence, Azriel had saved Asia today.
‘If the first and second groups had met, the spies hiding in the second group might have slaughtered everyone, especially with Instructor Benson being a traitor. Yet, Azriel managed to handle everything.’
Freya sighed, her gaze softening slightly, her voice losing some of its edge.
“There’s a rumor among the cadets. They’re saying that alongside the Crimson Princess was a silver-haired blood devil who decapitated the terrorists on the first floor. And on the second floor, a blonde knight and a green-eyed archer slaughtered hundreds of undead, saving countless cadets.”
‘That silver-haired boy… Cadet Nol, the one who entered the academy with Azriel. I thought he was just a normal servant, but now I see. He was Azriel’s trump card against the second group. An intermediate rank that Instructor Benson hadn’t accounted for.’
Undoubtedly, Benson must have panicked when Jasmine appeared.
He probably thought dealing with Azriel would be easier, planning to eliminate Jasmine with the others’ help afterward.
But none of it worked.
Instructor Benson and his men had all fallen to a single boy.
“Nol is one of mine,” Azriel said, his tone firm.
“You don’t need to worry about him. I’ll speak to him about his… actions. As for Lumine and Yelena, I have nothing to say about them. They seem like good people. Heroes, undoubtedly.”
Freya frowned.
‘I understand his lack of trust, but can he be any more reckless?’
“Are you not afraid you could have died?” Freya asked, her voice tightening.
“In fact, you’ve lied to me three times. I could ignore all consequences right now and kill you, then run.”
Azriel looked at her for a few moments before breaking into a smile.
“Of course, I fear death. Who doesn’t? But if you want to kill me, Headmistress, go ahead. Take my head and run for the rest of your life. I’m sure someone with your abilities could manage to never get caught. But would I do it all again?
Without hesitation.”