Fito's shoulder plate scraped against the stone wall, sending fine moss crumbling off in tiny flakes.

Inside the Frostwall Dungeon Fort, a candelabrum stood every seven paces. The flames in their grooves curled into soybean-sized embers, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. Black seepage oozed from the cracks, snaking along the base like countless small serpents, and reeked of putrid decay.

Chaos echoed from the passage above: the rapid thud of leather boots, the crunch of armor crushing brick, the dull clink of chainmail scales, and the sharp screech of weapons scraping rock edges.

This is a terrible time!

Bad news had piled up in moments: the wall had been breached, the werewolf horde had flooded in, the Frostwall Legion was in disarray…

A storm of catastrophic reports blew into the dungeon, nearly knocking Fito off his feet.

When he looked at Orek, the Commander-in-Chief's face was even paler than his own. For a moment, Fito feared Orek would collapse under the strain.

Luckily, the old man was stronger than he looked.

Though Orek leaned against the dungeon's iron bars, gasping for breath for a long time, he never knelt. Once he recovered, he issued his first emergency order: all those who had retreated into the dungeon were to gather in the Oval Chamber.

Fito acted immediately. He left Orek in the care of Ding Rui, a civilian "cellmate" in the adjacent cell, and sprinted up to the dungeon's upper levels.

Along the way, he encountered retreating Divine Folk, relaying the Commander's orders one by one. Fito could have passed this task to Ding Rui, but he was desperate to find someone—so he ran himself.

Sis Shana, please be safe…

He trusted the witch's strength to keep her alive, and she had antidotes too. But with the battlefield changing by the second, he couldn't rest until he saw her in person.

"Hey! Shield! Where's the boss?"

Just as the guard's anxiety peaked, a towering figure appeared at the end of the passage, its silhouette like a massive pillar.

Big Guy!

"The Commander ordered everyone to gather in the Oval Chamber." Fito and Basru had always clashed, but with the situation so dire, this was no time for personal grudges.

Even the big guy had retreated to the dungeon—meaning the fighting above was worse than he thought!

Fito's unease grew. He frowned: "Hey! Have you seen the witch Shana?"

Basru's face was deathly pale, his lips trembling slightly: "No… I retreated through the secret tunnel from the Oracle Tower. I didn't see anyone else!"

You didn't fight in the Narrow Square? You just retreated through the tower's tunnel directly?

Fito felt a twinge of suspicion, but couldn't put his finger on what was wrong. Before he could ask more, Basru hurried past him and ran down the lower passage.

"Wait, hold on…" Fito was about to call him back when a familiar voice sounded behind him.

"Brother Fito!"

It's Shana!

Fito spun around. Several figures descended into the passage, led by the witch he'd been worrying about.

Thank goodness!

Overjoyed, the guard hurried forward. His leather boot slipped on the stone floor in his excitement, and he stumbled right into Shana's arms.

"Ah! Watch your step!" Shana chided, her voice soft with irritation.

"Sis Shana! I'm so glad you're safe!"

Fito wrapped his arms around her without hesitation. He felt her warm, soft body against his, and his nose filled with the sweet, heady scent of mandala flowers. The realness of her presence made him dizzy with relief.

"Brother Fito, there are people watching!" Shana reminded him, her voice flustered.

The guard snapped back to his senses. He saw the three other witches standing nearby, plus Old Ray the scholar. He coughed awkwardly and released her.

Shana's face was bright red; she gave his arm a light pinch.

"Uh…" Fito was about to stammer an apology when he noticed the tears on her face. His heart tightened. "Are you hurt?"

Shana shook her head gently, then choked up: "The werewolves are too cruel! Sister Quan, Sister Shui, Mi Si… and my little follower Ning… they're all gone… I couldn't save them… this is my fault…"

The witch was so distraught her words were jumbled, but Fito could imagine how brutal the battle above had been. Even the witches couldn't save their own…

He wanted to comfort her, but didn't know what to say. He just patted her shoulder softly and said: "No matter what, the important thing is you're okay."

Just then, Old Ray spoke: "We can't waste any more time. The dungeon's iron gate won't hold those werewolves forever. We need to make a plan quickly. Fito, where's the Commander-in-Chief?"

Fito answered quickly: "The boss is in the Oval Chamber on the lowest level. He ordered everyone to gather there."

"In that case, we must hurry." Before the old scholar finished speaking, heavy footsteps echoed: four knights in silver armor hurried down the stone stairs and joined the passage.

The lowest level of the Frostwall Dungeon Fort was split into two sections: a grid of dungeon cells on one side, and the Oval Chamber on the other.

The Oval Chamber had been unused for years, covered in dust, making it the most dilapidated room in the Shield Fort. But three hundred years ago, it had been the Frostwall Commander's go-to command center. The 101st Commander had orchestrated a campaign there to purge the Snow Realm's demon clans—a classic battle in the Frostwall Legion's history. After that war, many demon clans in the frozen tundra were decimated, some wiped out entirely, others so weakened they had never recovered.

Now, over forty Divine Folk of the Frostwall Legion gathered in the Oval Chamber, arguing fiercely about their current predicament.

"I say we hunker down here and wait it out. Once the Blood Moon is over, the wolf pups' strength will drop, and we can charge up and beat the crap out of them!" a hunter said.

"Are you crazy? Do you know how many wolves are up there? At least five hundred! You want to fight them head-on?" a silver-armored knight objected.

"Don't spread panic! There aren't that many! Three hundred at most!" the hunter argued.

"Crazy? Three hundred? Are you sure?"

"Well…" The hunter hesitated under the silver knight's glare.

The silver knight shouted: "Even if there are only three hundred, we're no match for them! How many of us are there here?"

"We're few in number, but we're the Frostwall's elite! We can take on ten each!"

"Elite? You included?" the silver knight sneered. "This 'elite' crew consists of a seer who's lost his powers, witches who've used up their potions, a hunter without his musket… what difference does it make if we survive the Blood Moon or not?"

"White! Shut up!" Ding Rui, the civilian, stepped forward and shouted: "Watch your mouth! That's not a joke!"

The silver knight glanced at him, snorting: "Oh right, and a civilian with an unknown identity—maybe a werewolf spy."

"What did you say!" Ding Rui's hand shot to his waist, and his dagger slid out with a sharp snick.