Voldemort's army had only one weakness when it was first formed: its magic was weak. Yet if the magic of an entire army were gathered together, it would be enough to make Voldemort terrifyingly powerful.
Only recently—most likely because of something Wizet had done—had this army revealed a new flaw: on the night of the full moon, its members would fall into slumber and become harmless werewolves.
Fortunately, this weakness was easy to overcome. They simply had to refrain from sending the army's members out on the night of a full moon.
No!
Herpo vigorously shook his groggy head, as though trying to drive away that irrelevant thought.
Why was he considering the weaknesses of Voldemort's army?
There was only one thing he should—and had to—consider now: before "My Lord" descended, he had to banish Wizet into the turbulent currents of time!
As long as he could banish Wizet, he would clear away the greatest obstacle for "My Lord" and ensure that "My Lord" could descend smoothly.
Once "My Lord" truly descended, Herpo believed that with "My Lord's" abilities, which surpassed ordinary understanding, even if Wizet somehow escaped the turbulence of time, he would never be a match for "My Lord."
"It is almost here. This is the suffering bestowed by 'My Lord.' I must endure it!"
With that thought, Herpo closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh, as though expelling all the pent-up gloom in his heart.
The strange nature of Voldemort's soul filled him with horror.
The uncertainty of Wizet's strength hung over his heart like a shadow, leaving him deeply worried.
Yet Herpo firmly believed that as long as "My Lord" arrived in this world safely, every worry he faced and every detestable enemy would completely vanish!
Voldemort and Wizet would surely suffer the harshest