Millions of kilometers away from the forest where Asher Wargrave, the Tenth Sun, had just concluded his battle against the assassin known as Blue, a small yet majestic structure stood in stark isolation. It was a bungalow, modest in size, yet unmistakably crafted for a being of immense power and authority. The land surrounding it was utterly desolate, stripped of life and vitality.

The stench of blood was thick, clinging heavily to the air, so dense that it seemed as though the very atmosphere itself had been tainted. One could not help but feel that everything within this forsaken area had been fated for annihilation, as if destruction itself had claimed dominion over the land.

Yet, despite the overwhelming death, madness, and blood that saturated the desolate surroundings, the interior of the bungalow told an entirely different story. Life thrived within its walls. The hallways were clean, well-lit, and orderly, exuding an aura of discipline and control that sharply contrasted the chaos outside. Servants, guards, and knights moved with purpose, their footsteps measured, their expressions calm yet vigilant.

Among all those who carried life within this place, one figure stood out unmistakably. He was a tall man, well over six feet in height, his posture straight and dignified. He was clad in a standard butler's uniform, pristine and immaculately maintained, as though no speck of dust would ever dare cling to him. His hands were covered in spotless white gloves, and a monocle rested neatly over his left eye, catching the light faintly as he walked.

His movements were smooth and unhurried. This man was Zarek, the right hand and most trusted aide of the Primarch himself, Azaron Wargrave, Duke of the Wargrave Territory.

Zarek's face was entirely expressionless as he walked through the hallway. He neither smiled nor spoke to those he passed, and likewise, no one dared to address him. Everyone within the bungalow knew exactly who he was and understood his position. Although many present were knights, beings whose power far exceeded that of ordinary individuals, Zarek was no mere butler. Titles meant little when weighed against true strength. Even without his role, his personal power, ability, and battle prowess were nothing to scoff at. Few within the territory would dare underestimate him, and even fewer would survive doing so.

Eventually, Zarek came to a halt before a small, plain black door. Without hesitation or flourish, he raised his gloved hand and knocked upon it with quiet ease. Almost immediately, the door flew open on its own, revealing the room beyond. Zarek did not pause. He stepped inside calmly, and the door snapped shut behind him with a soft but decisive sound.

The moment the door closed, the formal and respectful demeanor Zarek had carried throughout the hallway vanished entirely. Here, within this private space, he stood alone with his master.

Azaron Wargrave sat within the study with relaxed composure, a parchment held loosely in his hand as his sharp golden eyes scanned its contents. The document detailed the report of the most recent raid against another Emovirae nest. Though the number of such nests was increasing, and their appearances becoming more frequent, the information did little to stir him. To Azaron, such matters were trivial. Whether it was a single Emovira or a billion of them, it made no difference. In his eyes, they were all ants, insignificant, disposable, and destined to be crushed.

His golden hair was arranged perfectly, not a strand out of place, complementing his striking features. Yet despite his commanding presence, an unmistakable boredom lingered on his face. Azaron was a man who lived for battle, someone who thrived in the chaos of combat. Ironically, reaching his current level of power had robbed him of that freedom. Though he was capable of battling Rank 10 Emovirae or even End Rank monsters and beasts, he understood all too well the catastrophic consequences such confrontations would bring upon the Empire.

With a quiet sigh, Azaron dropped the parchment onto the desk, signaling that he was finished reading it. He lifted his gaze, his golden eyes settling upon Zarek, who met his stare with a knowing smile.

"I think the great Azaron Wargrave won't die on a battlefield or from old age," Zarek said casually as he took a seat opposite him, the smile never leaving his face. "I believe you'll be killed by boredom instead."

Azaron let out another sigh before responding, his voice heavy with weariness. "Sigh… I would agree with that."

Zarek shook his head lightly, a soft chuckle escaping him as he did so.

"So," Azaron continued, leaning back slightly, "what brings you here? You hardly ever enter my personal study without important information, especially during moments and missions like these."

"Well," Zarek replied smoothly, "I bring good news."

Azaron raised an eyebrow slightly, staring at the man who knew him better than most, perhaps even better than his own children. "Then say what you want to say and stop trying to make me guess," he said flatly. "I'm a busy man, you know."

Zarek merely shrugged before continuing. "From the information we've just gathered, the Tenth Sun was attacked by a group of assassins while he was on his second mission from the Star Academy."

As he spoke, Zarek's gaze remained fixed on Azaron, waiting for any sign of reaction.

None came.

Azaron's expression remained as bored as ever. He did not ask whether Asher was alive or dead; such a question was unnecessary. If anything truly dire had happened, Malrik would have informed him before Asher even had time to confront death. And if, by some impossible circumstance, Malrik had failed to do so, Zarek certainly wouldn't be sitting here smiling if Asher were dead.

"And what exactly is the good news about that?" Azaron asked indifferently. "When he grows up and becomes stronger, he can seek his revenge."

There was no anger in his tone, nor any concern. Azaron had no intention of hunting down a group of insignificant assassins simply because they had tried, and failed, to kill Asher. To him, hardship was essential. How else was Asher meant to grow stronger if his life was never placed on the line? Every Wargrave learned this lesson the moment they passed the True Awakening.

Zarek's smile deepened slightly as he spoke again. "You misunderstand, Azaron. These assassins weren't sent by some random individual who merely wanted the Tenth Sun dead."

He paused deliberately, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. Azaron's interest was subtly piqued, though his expression barely shifted.

"They were sent by the Assassin Guild Leader," Zarek continued calmly. "You do understand what this means, don't you?"

He paused once more before delivering the final blow.

"The Assassin Guild has broken their end of the agreement."

The silence that followed was thick and oppressive, hanging heavily in the air. Yet Zarek's smile made one thing abundantly clear, the news he had brought was, without a doubt, good news.

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