Amid the wastelands and devastation of the continent that had been shattered by the titanic battle between Frey and Thanatos, that part of the world was still suffering the aftermath of the clash.
The continent had been reduced to countless scattered islands.
Between them flowed the cold waters of the Demonic Sea, alongside an endless ocean of blue fire.
Storms of black lightning still raged across the sky, and the furious winds had yet to calm.
Within the heavens above this astonishing spectacle of natural catastrophe, the body of an old man slowly formed—arriving after the disaster to witness with his own eyes what had transpired.
It was Maskith, the ancient old man who bore the title of Duke.
Maskith did not appear extraordinary.
He wore no dazzling armor.
He carried no terrifying weapon.
Even his presence seemed ordinary, and his clothing consisted of nothing more than an old, worn, long robe.
