Late at night, on the plains five kilometers outside Revival City.
Five hundred and nineteen dark figures arrived silently under cover of darkness and stood waiting.
At the front of the group stood Krus, four meters tall and built like a small mountain. His pale blue eyes rested on the towering city in the distance, his gaze shifting as though he were deep in thought. Behind him stood six transcendent Mages: three from the Allied Forces, one elder of the Venomfang Clan, and two elders of the Froststar Clan. Farther back were five hundred High Mages. Venomfang Clan assassins wielding curved blades stood at the front of the formation, while the towering Coldvein Warriors of the Froststar Clan brought up the rear. Together, they resembled a giant python coiled in the darkness, watching and waiting to strike. "...Lord Krus, when are we attacking?"
After an unknown length of time, an Allied Forces transcendent Mage finally broke the silence, his voice edged with impatience. And it was hard to blame him. Since this formidable assassination force had arrived outside Revival City, they had spent a full twenty minutes standing in the cold wind. Throughout that time, the Crown Tier warrior from the Froststar Clan had given no order to advance. He had simply stared at the city like a statue, as though they had come tonight to admire the sights rather than assassinate John Maslow.
Damn it. What was that old Beastfolk doing when he already had one foot in the grave?
If they kept waiting and Faoken's troublesome Mage Soldiers spotted them, wouldn't their carefully prepared assassination plan fail before it even began? "There's no hurry. My instincts tell me something is wrong inside Revival City."
Krus calmly glanced at the anxious Allied Forces transcendent Mage, this "dwarf," then spoke