On the opposite side, Roddur and Anandrio entered with a group of men.
What Roddur saw inside left him stunned. In the center sat a tall, powerful, and commanding man upon a grand chair.
Around him clung several beautiful women, unclothed, pressing close to him in intimate gestures. In his hand a thick cigar smoldered.
The hall was vast, filled with an oppressive aura. As soon as Roddur and the others entered, everyone except Anandrio knelt on the floor, lowering their heads in reverence to the man. Roddur, bewildered, could not grasp what was unfolding before him.
Then the man's deep voice broke the silence. "Come in, come in, Anandrio."
But Anandrio gave no response.
The man waved his hand slowly. At once, the women around him gathered their clothes about themselves and silently left the chamber.
The atmosphere grew heavier, as though the walls themselves held their breath.
Inside the chamber, seated on a massive throne-like chair, was the man himself—Gravanthor Darkbane. From the very air in the room, it was clear: he was the leader of the bandits, ruthless and terrifying.
His gaze was so cold and merciless that every person who stepped into the chamber trembled in silence. His body was massive, his muscles hardened like iron, and cruelty seemed etched into every line of his face.
The atmosphere was cloaked in an uneasy darkness. The air was heavy with smoke and a strange, pungent odor, as though every breath dragged in the shadow of death itself.
Dim lights flickered in the corners, but instead of brightening the chamber, they only deepened the fear that radiated around Gravanthor.
As Roddur entered, he knew instantly—this was no ordinary enemy. While others fell to their knees, heads bowed in fear, Roddur remained unsettled inside yet refused to let his resolve falter.
Suddenly, Gravanthor's voice thundered like a storm: "When you enter here, you bow your head. If you do not bow… you lose it."
His words echoed against the walls, pressing down on everyone in the chamber. He tapped the ash from his thick cigar, his movements deliberate, dangerous.
Then his eyes shifted slowly toward Anandrio.
"Anandrio…" His voice sliced through the silence, cold and menacing. "Why do you remain so quiet? Where is your smile?"
A deadly stillness spread through the hall. The gathered men held their breath, waiting.
Roddur could not make sense of what was unfolding, but one thing he felt with certainty—standing before this man was like walking through the shadow of death itself.
Anandrio gave no reply. He simply picked a cigarette from the table, lit it, and leaned against the wall in one corner of the chamber. Smoke curled around him, his eyes calm yet chillingly detached.
Meanwhile, the others still knelt on the ground with heads bowed in submission. Roddur remained silent, watching everything unfold, his mind swirling in confusion.
Gravanthor rose from his throne-like chair. His massive form radiated dominance, making the very air heavier. Step by step, he approached Roddur and stopped before him.
"Why have you brought him here?" he asked in a low, commanding tone.
From a distance, Anandrio answered calmly, "Because he is a Trans Migrator."
Gravanthor's expression brightened with grim satisfaction. "You've done well, Anandrio. But tell me, what do you intend to do with him?"
Without hesitation, Anandrio replied, "We should make him part of our clan."
Gravanthor frowned. "What do you mean?"
Anandrio explained clearly, "Trans Migrators possess far greater magical energy than ordinary fighters. They are immensely powerful. If one joins us, it strengthens our side."
Roddur listened to every word, but nothing made sense. It all slipped past him like a language from another world.
Suddenly, the great doors of the chamber slammed open with a loud crash. Silence fell instantly. A towering man entered, dragging a boy and a girl firmly by their arms. Their faces were pale with fear.
Anandrio turned his head sharply. "What are they doing here?" he asked sternly.
The man bowed and answered, "Boss, they were hiding behind the chamber. Trying to escape. So I caught them and brought them here. What should we do with them?"
Before he could say more, Gravanthor's eyes blazed with fury. In a flash, he seized a small sword from the desk and struck.
Blood sprayed as the man collapsed lifeless to the ground. The leader's wrath filled the chamber like fire.
His voice roared across the hall: "How could they dare try to escape under your watch? If anyone else attempts this again, the first breath I take will be to end yours!"
The others trembled with fear, none daring to lift their heads. The truth was undeniable—Gravanthor was merciless and terrifying.
Then his eyes fell upon the boy and the girl. Lirisa clutched Ken's hand tightly, tears streaming down her cheeks as her body quivered with terror. It seemed to her that these were the last moments of her life.
Gravanthor shook his blade, flinging drops of blood to the floor, and walked toward them with heavy steps. He crouched down before Ken and Lirisa, his gaze locking directly with Ken's eyes.
Ken stared back, his body trembling deep inside though his face revealed nothing.
And then, from the side, Roddur's eyes finally caught sight of Ken.
When Roddur saw Ken, a sudden wave of relief spread through his heart. Surrounded by blood-stained air and suffocating silence, he had felt a deep unease, but the sight of Ken eased some of that fear.
Likewise, when Ken's eyes fell on Roddur, a sense of reassurance touched him too—neither of them was alone. Yet, beneath that moment of solace, a strange silence lingered, thick with something ominous.
Gravanthor, still unmoving, kept his cold gaze fixed on Ken. His eyes were like those of a predator—sharp, deep, and merciless. But then, slowly, his gaze shifted toward Lirisa.
The very moment his eyes touched her, Lirisa's body trembled. From deep within her heart rose a memory—an old nightmare, one that had scarred her forever.
It was three years ago, on a night she would never forget.