The field before the destroyed fortress remained silent for only a few seconds. Thousands of werewolves retreated in disordered ranks, avoiding direct contact with Vergil, while others still watched Alexa in his arms with a mixture of astonishment, guilt, and fear. The red sky of Sankaria remained heavy, crisscrossed by black lightning and swirling clouds, as if the kingdom itself had fallen ill. The tension was so thick that even the wind seemed to hesitate before touching anyone.
Then the ground trembled again.
Not because of Vergil's aura this time, but because of synchronized and violent footsteps coming from the north. Ranks of warriors forced their way through as four figures advanced through the crowd. No ordinary wolf dared to block their path. Respect came not from affection, but from survival. Those four exuded brutal, ancient authority, inherited by blood and reinforced by countless battles.
Alexa's brothers had arrived.
