While an interesting spectacle unfolded in the forecourt of the Western High Tower, about 150 kilometers west of the Phelan Tower, the atmosphere inside a hidden chamber was starkly different. Here lay a middle-aged man with black hair and piercing red eyes, weakened and groaning in pain on the ground. His condition was dire; a large, gruesome slash marred his chest, cutting so deep that it had obliterated half of his stomach. His left arm was missing, and under ordinary circumstances, such injuries would have spelled certain death for any mortal.
It was Great Sorcerer Phelan.
Despite the severity of his wounds, Phelan maintained a calm demeanor as much as possible, refusing to succumb to panic or fear. His mind was still sharp, even as he felt the relentless pain coursing through him.
