Looking into the hollow, soul-burning eyes of the undead Mad Dogs, both the Silver Crest Guild members and the Crimson Arc Guild members could not help but swallow hard.
A suffocating pressure settled over the battlefield.
For the Crimson Arc Guild, Thoren was at best an ally.
And even that word felt dangerously generous.
They did not trust him.
They could not trust him.
A necromancer who raised the dead without hesitation, who treated fallen humans as mere resources… such a person could never be truly relied upon.
At most, he was a temporary blade pointed in the same direction.
Nothing more.
"Do you intend to meddle in our business?"
A sharp voice cut through the tense silence.
A short boy stepped forward from the Silver Crest Guild's formation, a deep frown etched into his youthful face.
He raised his long staff and pointed it directly at Thoren.
From his robes, engraved staff, and the faint mana fluctuations surrounding him, his profession was immediately obvious.
