Western Europe.
Land of the Prophet.
Inside a secluded church.
The man in a red robe sitting in the front row is praying to the divine presence in the church.
Several men in suits walk over, standing behind the man, slightly bowing their bodies, "Your Eminence, we just received news from Herta Kingdom, our plan has failed."
The man in the red robe turns around, his short, brown hair, and his handsome face is adorned with a pair of incredibly gentle blue eyes.
The color of his eyes, resembling the sea, draw people in at first glance.
The man appears to be young.
"The ancient martial artists of Herta Kingdom are harder to overthrow than we imagined," the man speaks as gently as his demeanor.
But the coldness engraved in his bones is hard to hide.
"Your Eminence, should we send another team to reconnect with the Dark City in Herta Kingdom?"
The man raises his slender hand, "We should not rush in and scare off our prey. We will wait for another opportunity."
"Yes!"
