“Be silent.”

Orek shot Hambart a sidelong glance. His previously listless eyes suddenly sharpened to a cutting point.

Damn it! Don’t pull that sanctimonious crap with me!

“They’re clearly in the wrong—otherwise Old Kam wouldn’t be dead.” Hambart’s voice trembled with unbridled agitation.

Hambart wasn’t afraid of Orek. The title of Commander meant nothing to him; he hadn’t come to the Wall for honor in the first place.

“Silence! Stand back!” Orek’s tone hardened, leaving no room for defiance.

Instead of retreating, Hambart stepped forward, closing the gap between them.

“This is the third death, counting the two mages before. And this time it’s the Wall’s steward—Kammon was the third-highest authority here. The wolves are slapping us in the face. As the Legion’s leader, you owe everyone an explanation.”

Hambart’s rage was now directed squarely at Orek.

He’d long held grievances against the Frostwall Commander. He’d just never had a reason to confront him directly, so he’d swallowed his frustration. But Kammon’s death had unleashed all the pent-up fury inside him.

Before coming to the Wall, Hambart had already heard of Orek’s fame. Orek wasn’t just the Commander—he was a Seer.

In the kingdom, the role of Seer was known as “the jewel in the crown of magic.” Their magic was the most powerful of all mage classes; their Holy Light could quickly locate and kill werewolves. In a land infested with wolf hordes, this ability was nothing short of a beacon of salvation.

But becoming a Seer was extraordinarily difficult. It required not only relentless effort but also immense natural talent. So across the entire kingdom, Seers were far fewer in number than Sorceresses, Demon Hunters, Dreamweavers, and other magic users. Rarity bred prestige, making Seers more revered than any other mage class.

Hambart had once held Seers in high respect. When he’d arrived at the Wall and seen the legendary Seer for the first time, Orek’s sunken eyes and haggard face had shattered the elegant, radiant image he’d imagined.

At the time, he’d told himself the disappointment was his own fault. Maybe Seers were supposed to look worn out—he’d been too focused on appearances. After all, a Seer’s fame rested on their magical strength, not their looks.

But the Wolf Night Slayings at the Wall had shattered that remaining respect.

After the first murder, Hambart had expected the Seer to immediately unleash his legendary Holy Light to track the wolf. But by the time the second murder happened, Orek still hadn’t uncovered the killer’s identity.

Now came the third death—and it was Kammon.

This time, he wouldn’t let Orek get away with it!

Hambart decided to confront Orek head-on. He stood directly in front of the Commander, their eyes locked in a tense standoff. The air around them grew thick with tension.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Feto the Guard stepped to Hambart’s side, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, clearly ready to intervene.

Hambart ignored him. His only target was the man in front of him.

Orek, even if you throw me off the Wall or behead me, I’ll tear off your fake mask! I’ve been fooled once—I won’t let it happen again!

Their eyes met, and Hambart’s gaze held firm. But it was Orek who blinked first.

“What exactly do you want?” Orek frowned, his voice laced with irritation.

“Use your Seer’s power. Find the wolf right now, and avenge Old Kam.” Hambart’s voice was steady, his resolve unshakable.

“Now is not the right time.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you. I’m in charge here, not you.”

“Stop putting on airs! I want you to unleash the Holy Light right now!” Hambart’s tone grew impatient, his patience wearing thin.

Suddenly, he felt a heavy weight on his shoulder—Feto had pressed his hand down, pinning him in place.

“Step back! You will not disrespect the Commander!” Feto warned, his voice cold.

You poseur brat—don’t think I’m scared of you!

“Damn it!”

Hambart shrugged off Feto’s hand and lunged forward, but Feto stepped back just in time, letting the lunge miss. Hambart quickly drew his sidearm, but before he could raise the crossbow, he saw another crossbow aimed straight at his chest.

“Don’t move, or I’ll put an arrow through you!”

That was supposed to be his line, but the other man had said it first. Hambart recognized Du Sanyuan, the Wall’s top marksman—his archery was even sharper than Hambart’s own.

Hambart turned and saw two swords pointed at his back, their blades glinting in the faint light.

At that moment, Hambart didn’t care about life or death. He shook his head and said to Orek, “I suspect you’re the wolf.”

Feto roared, “One more word of nonsense, and I’ll kill you right now!”

Orek made a calming gesture, signaling his men to hold back. “If you say I’m the wolf, what proof do you have?”

Orek’s eyes were tired, but he didn’t look away—his gaze was steady, unflinching.

“Because you haven’t used your wolf-detection skill…” Hambart suddenly realized his accusation was just a guess—he had no solid evidence to back it up.

“Using a Seer’s power consumes enormous mana. After each use, we need days to recover. It’s not something we can do whenever we want.” Rae stepped forward to explain for Orek, her voice calm and authoritative.

Crap!

Hambart cursed inwardly. He knew nothing about magic; he had no idea if she was telling the truth or covering for Orek.

“Then… from the first two mages’ deaths to Kammon’s, it’s been over a hundred days. That should be enough time for you to recover and use the skill again…” Hambart fumbled for a logical flaw, grasping at straws.

“How do you know I haven’t?” Orek asked calmly, his tone unreadable.

Hambart paused, taken aback, then said, “Then what was the result of your detection?”

“Nothing is certain yet. I can’t reveal any information to you—it would interfere with my hunt for the wolf.”

“That’s just an excuse!”

“If you insist on asking, it only means you’re the wolf, or you’re trying to gather information to cover for your wolf allies.”

Orek’s words left Hambart speechless. He wanted to argue, but his mind was in chaos, his anger clouding his judgment.

“You’re talking nonsense! I’m not a wolf—I could never be a wolf…” Hambart had shifted from accusing Orek to defending himself, his voice growing desperate.

“Hambart has disrespected his superior. Lock him in the deepest dark dungeon of the Deephold for three days.” Orek gave the order to Feto, his tone final, clearly thinking he’d won the confrontation.

“Yes, sir!” Feto stepped forward and grabbed Hambart’s hands, twisting them behind his back. “Don’t resist—if you still consider yourself a member of the Frostwall Legion…”

In that moment, Hambart realized he’d made a huge mistake. Against Orek, he had no chance of winning—whether in strength, wit, or public opinion.

He suddenly understood something. No one had questioned Orek all this time not because no one suspected him, but because everyone knew that speaking up meant certain death.

As Hambart stared blankly, Feto took his crossbow, and two burly soldiers grabbed his arms from behind, their grip like iron.

Hambart felt a sharp pain in his shoulders as a powerful force dragged him toward the Deephold.

He finally saw how dangerous Orek was. That tired, listless look was just a mask—deep down, the man was cunning as a fox, always one step ahead.

“I’ll keep watching you until I tear off that fake mask!”

As Hambart walked past Orek, he threw those words over his shoulder, then headed straight for the dark entrance of the Deephold, his head held high.

He knew Orek was watching him from behind. He wanted to leave the Commander with a sense of unease, a reminder that the hunt wasn’t over.

The game isn’t over, Orek. We’ll have our day. I will never bow to you!