Slowly, Lieutenant Dante rose to his feet, blood trickling from one of his nostrils.
He had truly been struck—by someone he once considered nothing more than a pawn.
The Prophet… a strange man, once left to rot in the military prison before being transferred here. Dante had only taken an interest in him because of the whispers—rumors that he spoke of strange things, of the return of Gafarè, of a special child who would reunite the Central Plains.
Acentalles Gafarè wasn't just some myth told to green recruits. Most militants had at least heard his name. But those who genuinely understood the depth of his deeds—what his legacy stood for—were rare.
