Inside the dark chamber of the Dark Guild, Draven seized a letter from a bird carrier. He scanned its contents with each word his rage grew. The parchment curled in his fist as he then tossed it on the table splitting the wood with force.
"B-ranked kids?" he hissed. "They massacred Jason's entire team? Even Seven A-ranks in our team could not deal with them?"
The lieutenants stiffened, witnessing the rage consume Draven. With a roar, he flipped the table, and the maps and goblets went crashing to the floor.
"I underestimated them," he growled, pacing. "Not again."
One of his subordinates stepped forward hesitantly. "What are your orders, sir?"
Draven's lips curled into a sinister grin. "Call Morgath."
The room fell silent.
"M-Morgath?" another stammered. "But he's—"
"I know who he is!" Draven exclaimed. "I don't give a damn if he is sadistic or insane; those kids humiliated me. I'll make sure they regret it."
