THE VILLAIN'S POV Chapter 797 Condemnation (1)

After the Empire's collapse in the previous war, the Shadow Sect stood as humanity's ultimate refuge.

Its massive walls formed the final bulwark, now teeming with troops.

Sentries stayed perpetually vigilant, prepared for any foe's strike.

Security proved so stringent that even certain Shadow Sect statues joined the vigil, forging an odd alliance between people and those icy figures resembling machines more than living beings.

Under normal circumstances, tranquility reigned.

The landscape outside the walls stayed unchanging:

A vast shadowy woodland, under skies that only alternated between darkness and daylight.

The watchmen had grown accustomed to that panorama.

Yet today… everything shifted for the first time.

The change struck at dawn's first light, as lookouts detected a streak of brilliance racing toward them from the horizon at alarming velocity, terror seizing their souls.

They dashed about in panic to alert all of an imminent danger at the gates—only to realize their alarm was unfounded.

The approaching silhouette turned out to be Snow Lionheart in person.

The Empire's Hero had come back, bearing the battered form of an unfamiliar figure in wretched condition.

Naturally, the guards remained unaware that this pitiable soul was Nito, the Ninth Seat of the High Demons.

As Snow touched down on a cleared spot atop the battlements—the guards having parted hastily to the sides—he squinted, scanning the area like he sought a specific person.

"Where is Frey?" Snow demanded, detecting no sign of his presence.

The guards hesitated before responding.

One finally advanced to reply.

"Ah… Frey Starlight hasn't appeared since that last fight. Scarcely anyone encounters him—he shuns all company," the soldier explained, then halted to amend his words.

"All except the commanders… and his kin."

Snow acknowledged with a nod, then vaulted into the sect without another look their way.

Stride by stride, Snow traversed the Shadow Sect, which had transformed into the new Belgrade.

All around, folks navigated the neighborhoods, gradually settling into this fresh abode.

Morale hung low amid the staggering casualties.

Among these humans—the so-called fortunate ones—each had suffered at least one relative's loss in the latest strife.

Still… they pressed on with existence, gripping survival to the last breath.

Merely a few million humans lingered now, a dreadfully scant count for a whole species.

Humanity teetered on extinction's edge without exaggeration.

The conflict raged far from conclusion.

As Snow surveyed those souls—men, women, youths, and seniors—he pondered deeply:

How many would endure… and how many would perish?

Snow harbored no illusions, nor any innocence.

He understood death's inevitability in warfare—no dodging it.

Observing their unfamiliar yet long-shared human visages one after another, Snow shut his eyes.

Then he pivoted, resuming his journey.

The Empire's Hero dwelled in a unique limbo regarding his ties to humankind.

Snow transcended mere student or mankind's selected savior now.

He embodied the First Lord of Light's other aspect—the Pure Vessel, armed with every memory and ability.

A being beyond human limits, whose Lightbearer lineage had vastly outshone normal mortals.

Tainted faintly by demonic essence, like a black speck marring pristine white.

"What can I truly give this realm?" Snow mused while bounding across rooftops.

"I owe them naught… yet gratitude binds me to several among them."

His mind drifted to a select few comrades—Frey foremost.

The fellow who'd acted as his brother, the shadowy flip side of their shared destiny.

Thoughts of Frey ignited a fierce impulse in Snow—to rush to his companion at once.

Yet he restrained it.

Prior matters demanded attention first.

Blurring with velocity, Snow arrived at the temple serving as humanity's headquarters.

He shoved the doors wide and strode inside, bypassing any need for approval.

Shadows cloaked the inside.

At the hall's distant end, one man's azure gaze provided the sole illumination.

Snow advanced deliberately, halting at a measured distance from Gehrman—neither intimate nor remote.

The figure lifted his head slowly, meeting Snow's stare.

"The heir of the Lord of Light… no—the Lord of Light himself.

You've finally returned."

"…"

Snow offered no immediate retort.

His icy stare alone revealed his profound caution toward Gehrman.

Yet the hush didn't endure.

Suddenly, Snow flung Nito's shattered form down onto the ground right in front of Gehrman.

"I know you're the one manipulating everything from the darkness," Snow stated coolly, motioning at Nito.

"Thus, I figure you're the ideal person to handle this betrayer."

Gehrman rested a hand under his chin, scrutinizing Nito... then shifting to Snow with evident awe at Snow's feats.

"You took down the Ninth Seat by yourself… and dragged him here alive without any serious wounds," Gehrman remarked.

"Just as anticipated from the First Lord of Light."

Snow's accomplishment demonstrated one undeniable fact:

He alone stood as a genuine rival to Frey.

In the rising generation, those two surged ahead at a staggering speed... leaving all others far behind.

Snow displayed no delight from Gehrman's commendation.

He brushed it aside completely and cut to the chase.

"Nito can serve us in several ways," Snow declared steadily.

"The Pantheon covets him greatly—which turns him into a prime negotiation tool.

I'm sure you grasp that already."

Gehrman nodded in agreement.

"You're absolutely right. Even so, I'm taken aback that you'd entrust this to me—especially since you clearly distrust me."

Snow's face stiffened bit by bit at those words, his gaze affirming what Gehrman had noted.

"Indeed. I despise types like you... those who scheme in the shadows," Snow replied icily.

"Your intentions remain a total mystery, and you'd stop at nothing to reach your aims—even sparking a disaster that claims thousands of lives."

With those words, Snow gradually tightened his fist.

Truth be told, he felt uneasy allying with Gehrman... or the Shadow Sect lurking in his wake.

That unease arose from Snow's awareness of Gehrman's history—what he'd inflicted on Frey, the prolonged torment and control.

Gehrman embodied the sort of individual Snow loathed above all:

A figure whose boundaries were immeasurable, willing to traverse any length for their desires.

Still, the Empire's Hero refrained from revolt or betrayal against the Shadow Sect—for a straightforward cause.

"It's true I can't stand people like you… and I trust you not one bit," Snow admitted, his features torn between doubt and determination.

"But Frey? I trust him completely."

His expression blended odd feelings... gut-level suspicion of Gehrman, paired with unwavering belief in Frey that let him endure the circumstances.

"I trust Frey," Snow pressed on.

"He's convinced that you and your sect offer our best shot at survival. So I'll go along with it—as long as you stay on our side."

Catching Snow's honest sentiments, Gehrman grinned, shutting his eyes serenely.

"Fine then. Allow me to make one point clear, Lord of Light," Gehrman responded smoothly.

"Frey is the only one I give a damn about—no one else. Don't count on me battling for the humans you aim to save."

"I already knew that," Snow answered with a faint exhale.

From Gehrman's statement, Snow verified a vital truth:

Frey formed the only connection tying them to the Shadow Sect.

Should Frey vanish, the whole sect would dissolve alongside him... abandoning them utterly in the looming conflict.

That underscored Frey's immense significance.

The cornerstone... the bedrock—supporting their entire alliance.

With their alliance's terms settled between Gehrman and Snow, they set the topic aside and focused on the priority.

The figure sprawled on the floor amid them.