"Your subordinate gave a fine performance."
Agaroth's fist sank into Frey's chest, forcing blood to burst from his throat as he pressed forward without pause.
"You need to do better than him… otherwise, there's no meaning in this."
As he spoke, the Demon King manipulated his aura, striking at everyone who tried to approach—Abraham, Snow, and the rest—ensuring no one would interfere this time.
The timing was not right yet.
And so Frey was alone once again, forced to endure everything by himself.
He felt The Pursuer ignite within him, pushing him forward desperately against an opponent that surpassed all boundaries of power, a level that could not be measured even in dreams.
Agaroth was cunning. He could have ended Frey with a single blow, yet he deliberately adjusted his power each time, ensuring he would not kill him.
He maintained a vast gap ... just enough for The Pursuer to keep chasing.
And then he beat Frey down.
Relentlessly.
