Miles away, secluded in the cold silence of her crystal chamber, Selthia was seething.
She had already written off the southern front… She had swallowed her pride, accepted defeat, and pulled her surviving units out of the sector to save them from being melted by Ren's unquenchable black fire.
She had made the pragmatic choice to recycle those troops for a stronger push on the remaining fronts.
Yet, the southern peak she thought was a closed book was suddenly generating fresh nightmares.
She had no idea what kind of sorcery Ren had just pulled off.
Somehow, he had turned the mangled corpse of the Light Dragon against her soldiers. A radiant abomination was currently roaming the southern plains, spreading a golden infection on the ground, hunting her scouts and aggressively tracking down her corruption with an obsession Selthia could neither comprehend nor control.
To her perspective, it felt like a deliberate, deeply personal insult.
