Late at night, dark clouds hid the crescent moon and scattered stars, leaving nothing but pitch-black darkness between heaven and earth.
Points of fire flickered along Wercheg's walls. Patrols carrying torches passed from time to time, keeping watch against a possible night attack.
Although the Dark Cult had occupied Wercheg for a long time, order within the city remained far from stable. Harsh, heavy-handed policies, coupled with the terror of sacrifice, had left the cult unable to suppress the residents' resistance.
Small clashes broke out frequently within the city. Sometimes the clash of blades rang out from a dark alley; sometimes an assassination took place in a tavern or another place where all sorts mingled.
The Nords' fiery spirit was simply that explosive.
Such incidents were an endless headache for the Dark Cult officer responsible for maintaining order here. He was often woken in the middle of his sleep.
"My lord, terrible news! Terrible news!"
Tonight, another burst of urgent knocking woke Dakar, who had only just fallen asleep with the help of alcohol.
As one of Fenrir's most capable subordinates and a captain of Doom Thunder, Dakar possessed not only formidable fighting skills but also an excellent constitution. With proper preparation, going three days and nights without sleep was nothing to him.
But being woken halfway through his sleep was infuriating, especially when it happened once or twice almost every day. Who could stand that?
"What is it?"
Though his irritation was already boiling over, Dakar barely maintained his dignity rather than immediately unleashing a torrent of curses.
"The city gate has fallen! A group of attackers is already fighting its way toward the castle!"
The voice outside the door carried a trace of terror beneath its urgency, as though its owner had witnessed something unbelievable.
"What? How is