When Voldemort's army had first been formed, it had even had only one weakness: "weak magic." But as long as the magic of an entire army was gathered together, it was enough to make Voldemort terrifying beyond measure.
Only recently—most likely because Vizet had done something—had this army exposed a new flaw: on the night of the full moon, its members would fall into a deep sleep and become Werewolves that posed no threat at all.
Fortunately, this weakness was easy to overcome. When the night of the full moon arrived, they simply had to avoid sending the army's members out.
No!
Herpo shook his heavy head hard, as if trying to drive that irrelevant thought away by doing so.
Why was he thinking about the flaws in Voldemort's army?
Right now, the thing he most should consider—and had to consider—was only one thing: before "The Master" descended, he had to exile Vizet into the chaotic currents of time!
As long as he could exile Vizet, he could clear away the greatest obstacle for "The Master" and ensure that "The Master" descended smoothly.
Once "The Master" truly descended, he believed that with "The Master's" abilities, which surpassed all mundane understanding, even if Vizet somehow escaped the chaotic currents of time, he would absolutely never be a match for "The Master."
"It is almost here. This is the suffering bestowed by 'The Master.' I must endure it!"
At this thought, Herpo closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, as though by doing so he could breathe out all the frustration in his heart.
The strangeness of Voldemort's soul left him appalled.
The uncertainty of Vizet's strength was even more like a shadow hanging over his heart, filling him with worry.
Yet Herpo firmly believed that as long as "The