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To cover thousands of miles in an instant, Elric had to gather a significant amount of rare ingredients and supplies to perform the complex spell needed to open a stable portal from the Royal Grounds to the edge of the Sacred Lands–and another to return. The spell was intricate, time–consuming, and costly, but he had no other choice. Addison’s life depended on it.R
With the teleportation portal, their travel time would be cut drastically—perhaps even by half. Still, Elric could only hope he would be able to persuade the Saintess quickly. If she refused or hesitated, there was no telling how long it might take to bring her back—if he could bring her back at all.
Sending a disciple in his place was out of the question. This mission required sincerity and humility, and delegating it would risk offending the Saintess. They were the ones in need of help, and they had to demonstrate that truth with utmost respect.
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After everyone left the medical ward, silence fell once more. Meanwhile, in the Midnight River Pack, the Royal Convoy had already set out as soon as they received the Alpha King’s orders.
By dawn, they arrived at the pack’s borders–but to their surprise, there was no welcoming party. The entire area felt eerily deserted and solemn. The lack of enthusiasm made the head of the Royal Convoy
wrinkle his nose in displeasure.
In every other pack they had visited, it was customary to be met with respectful fanfare. Members of the pack–led by their Alpha and top warriors–would gather at the border to show their unity and strength, followed by escorting the convoy to their quarters to rest before a formal banquet.
The visiting party was always entertained and treated with honor. But here, the absence of any greeting struck an ominous chord.
Even without the usual warm welcome, the contrast wouldn’t have been so jarring—if not for the memory of how other packs treated them. Now, as their
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carriage moved deeper into the territory, the head of the Royal Convoy wrinkled his nose once more–this time for a different reason.
A thick, metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air, saturating the forest as if a massacre had just taken place. As they passed through, they saw warriors scattered among the trees, silently cleaning up the
aftermath.
Their expressions were grim and their jaws clenched so tightly it seemed they might crack their molars, but none of them reacted to the arrival of the convoy. They moved mechanically, their minds seemingly elsewhere, too lost in thought to even notice the Yoyal Convoy and his entourage.
“Ha! What kind of so–called Hero’s territory is this?” the head of the Royal Convoy scoffed, his tone laced with disdain. “His warriors are pathetic–anyone could’ve ambushed them in broad daylight. If you ask me, their carelessness is probably what got those other warriors killed.” With a snort, he yanked the curtain shut, blocking the grim view that irritated him so much.
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Unlike the Royal Convoy, however, the rest of the entourage was shocked–stunned, even. After all, this was the territory of the Hero, Alpha Zion–the man known as a beast on the battlefield, feared by both vampires and werewolves alike. For something like this to happen on his land… had he lost control again? Was his territory under attack?
But then again, there were no traces of vampires anywhere. Not a single lingering scent of rogues either. The only scent in the air was that of Zion’s pack, mixed heavily with fresh blood. Judging by how strong the metallic tang still was, the deaths had occurred recently–too recent for the wind to have masked the attackers‘ scent.
Which left only one chilling possibility: Alpha Zion himself had gone berserk.
A cold shiver ran down their spines.
Of course, everyone had already heard the tales of the Hero Alpha–Alpha Zion–the beast who single–handedly massacred an entire vampire battalion and turned the tide of war. He was hailed s
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the second strongest among the werewolves, the only one believed to possess the potential to rival the Alpha King’s strength.
But unlike the Alpha King, who ruled with reason and justice, Alpha Zion was known for his ruthless and cold–blooded methods. Though revered as a hero, he
was feared even more.
People walked on eggshells around him, terrified of sparking his wrath. If one angered the Alpha King, punishment might mean imprisonment or execution, depending on the severity of the crime. But if someone crossed Alpha Zion, their head might be separated from their shoulders before they even realized their mistake.
That was the fear he commanded.
Over the years, Zion’s behavior on the battlefield had `left many bewildered. His ferocity and occasional berserker episodes had led people to form their own assumptions about him—branding him as heartless and dangerously ruthless. But the truth was far more complicated.
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Yes, Zion had indeed lost control in battle more than once, and yes, some of their own had died as a result. But what most didn’t know was that the fearsome reputation he carried was carefully crafted–not by him, but by his Beta, Greg.
It was Greg who fanned the flames of Zion’s legend, spreading rumors and exaggerations to stoke fear among their ranks. The more people feared Zion, the more untouchable Greg became within the camp.
It gave him leverage and status, especially against those from rival territories who had once looked down on him and his pack. Greg reveled in this power, strutting around like a tyrant under the guise of serving a terrifying Alpha.
Meanwhile, Zion was burdened with the real responsibilities of leadership—strategic planning, resource management, coordinating troop movements, and silently shouldering the pain of mate he pretended to despise.
He had no time to monitor Greg’s every move, no idea just how deeply his Beta’s actions were shaping his
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image. And because of that, the world came to know a version of Zion that wasn’t entirely true.
But now, seeing the aftermath of so many warriors‘ deaths in Zion’s territory, the royal entourage couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of dread. As they traveled deeper into the Midnight River Pack, the mood grew
heavier.
When they passed through the community where the pack members lived, what greeted them wasn’t the usual curiosity or hospitality–it was silence and despair. The people wore grim, hollow expressions, as if the very life had been drained from them. It was unsettling.
When they finally arrived at the Packhouse, they were met not by the Alpha or Luna, but by the Gamma–Levi -who seemed to have taken on thé role of a butler. Traditionally, if an Alpha was unavailable to greet the visitors, the Luna would at least make an appearance to welcome them with proper decorum. But here, that expectation was clearly unmet.
Levi, catching the flicker of judgment in their eyes,
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offered a shallow smile and spoke before they could voice their thoughts. “Welcome, everyone, to the Midnight River Pack. We appreciate your presence in our territory. Unfortunately… our Luna has vanished- disappeared off the grid entirely. So, aside from myself, there’s no one available to properly host you at the moment. We ask for your understanding.”
He gave a slight bow, but the faint smirk on his lips hinted at something more—perhaps amusement, or something darker beneath the surface.
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