Bab 696: Volkov

In a dimly lit training room, the air was thick with tension and the acrid scent of sweat. Lord Volkov, a man of imposing stature, swung his sword ferociously.

Each stroke cut through the air, leaving a trail of invisible energy in its wake. The room reverberated with the sound of the air splitting, as if echoing the inner the dark thoughts within him. His face was a mask of concentration, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched.

Just then, the door creaked open, interrupting the rhythm of his solitary practice. A man timidly stepped inside, his eyes downcast, his posture submissive. "F-forgive the intrusion, L-lord Volkov," he said stammering, his voice tinged with fear.

Volkov's sword came to an abrupt halt, hovering in mid-air. He turned his gaze toward the intruder, his eyes like shards of ice. "Speak. What brings you here?"

The man swallowed hard, gathering the courage to deliver his message. "M-my lord, we've lost t-track of Becker inside the f-forest."