The report of Shiheng slaying two eighth-level dark warriors in his first battle and routing the three-thousand-strong vanguard with a single strike reached the Shadow Alliance at the greatest possible speed, passing through layer after layer until it reached Theodora's hands.
"Damn you, Shiheng!"
Theodora clenched his hand, crushing the intelligence report in his grip. The hatred churning in his eyes nearly spilled over, an obsession and venom etched into his very bones.
More than three years had passed since Shiheng severed his arm. During those three years, he had forsaken every pleasure and trained desperately in fire magic, refining his magical power day and night without rest. He had now become a mid-level seven mage. Mages progressed slowly to begin with, and accumulating magical power was as difficult as ascending to heaven. Reaching the middle of the seventh level at twenty-five made him a once-in-a-millennium genius even within the entire Shadow Alliance, and he had always been showered with admiration and reverence.
In truth, the Shadow Alliance's finest healing magic could have fully restored his severed arm long ago, leaving it as good as new without the slightest trace of injury.
But he refused.
He wanted to keep that missing arm, to preserve the pain of its loss as a constant reminder of the humiliation he had suffered. Only when he had personally torn Shiheng to pieces and avenged that disgrace would he restore his arm. Years of being the center of everyone's adulation, without ever suffering the slightest setback, had long since twisted his temperament into something warped and obsessive. His obsession with revenge had already become a pathological madness.
"Shiheng, every day for these past three years, I've waited for this day-for the moment I slaughter you with my own hands!"
Theodora gave an icy smile. A