The guards grew increasingly boisterous and joyful. Sometime during the night, someone had brought out beer, and they began drinking. Not too much, of course, or they would be caught the next morning, but enough to unwind and relax. They laughed, gambled, argued, and some even fell asleep.

  Fril remained still in the same spot. He was waiting for the perfect moment.

  When he sensed that the guards' vigilance was at its lowest, he felt that the time was ripe. He spotted one guard, who was sleeping. A cold spark appeared in Fril's eyes. His lust for murder was ignited.

  Moving silently through the darkness, he crept up on the lone guard, ensuring that no one was watching. With lightning speed and precision, he attacked. The man didn't even have a chance to make a sound before Fril had torn his throat out and dragged him into the shadows. The process lasted only a few heartbeats. It showed the talent Fril had in the assassination.

  Now, there was no more waiting. Though he was so fast in killing the man, that no one of the other thirty-two guards could spot him, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed that a guard was missing. He had to act now. He leaped up to the ceiling, gliding effortlessly over the beautiful paintings like a creature far too large to be a mere spider. The Guards were too distracted to spot him on the high ceiling.

  Fril thought carefully about his next steps. Killing everyone without being detected was nearly impossible, yet the moment someone saw him, they would raise the alarm.

  The Duce had explicitly ordered him not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. If the humans found traces of the Polykenas too early, they could gather and prepare. Even if the Duce wins the war, the losses would be uncountable.

  His gaze drifted toward the door leading to the king's chambers, but dozens of guards stood in front of it. He had spent several days observing the king's palace, scaling the walls under the cover of night in search of another entrance.

  However, there were no windows in the entire fortress—only small holes to allow fresh air to flow in. Fril couldn't fit through those. He could strengthen and alter his body, but shrinking wasn't an option.

  Fril had the power to destroy the walls, but that would draw even more attention. Worse still, he didn't even know the exact location of the king's chambers.

  This was his best way in, but if he wanted to get past the guards, he had to kill them all. No one could see him and live to tell the tale.

  A smile crept across Fril's face. He loved challenges. Killing the guards was easy. He could take down a hundred more without breaking a sweat. The true challenge was eliminating them all without allowing anyone to escape or raise the alarm.

  One was already dead; thirty-two more remained.

  But Fril had already devised a plan. He slowly crept toward the center of the throne room. Hanging from a sturdy chain was a massive golden chandelier. He reached for it, and with a swift strike, severed the chain. Before the chandelier could even begin to fall, Fril darted across the ceiling toward the door where three guards stood watch.

  With a deafening crash, the chandelier hit the floor. The oil in its many holders splattered in all directions, sending flames leaping and thick smoke billowing into the air. Alarmed shouts erupted from the guards, their attention fixed on the burning wreckage.

  Fril moved swiftly. While the thick smoke still obscured their vision, he struck. Silent and precise, he slaughtered twelve guards on one side of the room. Before the dust could settle, he had already crossed to the other side, hidden in the shadows, striking again and again. Only after he had removed twenty-two guards from the gene pool did someone finally notice what was happening.

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  A startled cry rang out.

  That cry alerted the others. They turned, their gazes landing on the fallen bodies. Swords were drawn in an instant. One of the guards bolted toward the long rope hanging beside the throne. If he pulled it, the massive bell in the fortress tower would ring, alerting everyone.

  But how could Fril not foresee this?

  The moment the guard yanked the rope, it snapped and fell uselessly to the ground.

  Panic spread among the remaining men. The leader of the guards barked orders, telling two of them to run outside and alert the sentries on the walls. But Fril was faster. Before they reached the doors, he had already cut them down.

  He no longer cared if he was seen.

  The other guards cried out in horror when they laid eyes on him. Some called out to their god, others screamed "Demon!" But their prayers were in vain. They swung their swords wildly, some even tried to escape, but Fril was too fast. In just one minute, he had slain them all.

  Stepping toward the main gate of the throne room, he placed his hands on the golden throne and, with inhuman strength, shoved it against the entrance. To further secure it, he reinforced the blockade with a thick steel-reinforced wooden beam.

  He didn't know if anyone outside had heard the commotion. It was unlikely, the walls were solid and the gate was massive. And from Fril's inspections on the past few days, he knew the guards on the wall were far apart. Many years without trouble also made them lazy. Fril could have killed them all the last night—there was no doubt about that—but then he wouldn't have been able to slip into the throne room undetected.

  When he had dropped the chandelier and distracted the guards, he could have easily left the room through the door that led to the king's chamber, but getting back in unnoticed would have been far more difficult. Not impossible, of course, but Fril enjoyed creating as much chaos as possible.

  There were two reasons for this. First, it made him stronger. When the main armies clashed, his abilities would be far less useful. He wouldn't be able to cause as much destruction.

  Second, spreading fear among the people would work in his favor. The kings and rulers would grow paranoid, making it much harder for them to coordinate once the Duce attacked.

  Obviously, Fril also enjoyed it immensely!

  After securing the gate, he turned his attention to the door the king had passed through earlier. He waited. If someone was behind it, they would have surely heard the destruction by now.

  But after an hour of silence, Fril lost patience. With a swift strike, he shattered the door and stepped into a long corridor dimly lit by torches.

  He quickly extinguished them—the darkness was his greatest ally.

  Moving cautiously, he checked each door he passed. He would knock once. If no answer came after ten minutes, he broke it down and retreated into the shadows.

  The fortress's architect had clearly feared assassins, as there were no windows or alternative exits. While this design was effective against ordinary killers, for Fril, it was a gift. He didn't need to worry about guarding entrances or preventing anyone from escaping.

  His senses were on high alert, listening for the slightest noise. It wasn't long before he heard footsteps.

  He reached a crossroads. To the right and left, two brightly lit hallways extended into the distance. Two guards stood at attention in each, torches in hand. Unlike the ones in the throne room, these men were motionless, tense, and highly alert.

  They took their duty seriously.

  Fril hissed quietly in irritation. The halls were fully illuminated, and the ceilings were too low for him to move undetected above them. But the situation was not hopeless.

  Opening his mouth, he revealed long, razor-sharp teeth. His tongue was black and unnaturally long. Reaching into a side pouch, he withdrew two small daggers. He spat onto their tips. Then, preparing himself, he leaped from the darkness into the light.

  One of the men noticed him immediately, but Fril was faster. He hurled his daggers. Both struck their targets. His saliva was a powerful neurotoxin. Within seconds, the men collapsed, unconscious. Blood pooled rapidly beneath their bodies, but Fril had already turned toward the other two guards.

  The first barely had time to react before Fril reached him. With a single, swift blow, he crushed the man's skull. Using the falling corpse as leverage, he leaped off it and drove his claws through the armor of the final guard. The man let out a choked gasp before Fril tore out his heart.

  He collapsed, twitching, and then was still.

  In mere seconds, all four men were dead.

  Fril quickly moved between the torches, extinguishing them one by one.

  For nearly an hour, he prowled through the castle, moving through rooms and corridors, silently eliminating every guard he encountered. Darkness swallowed the fortress. Only the torches near the windows remained lit—anyone outside would notice if they were missing.

  Finally, as Fril rounded another corner, he saw before him a massive double door. He instantly knew it was the king's private chamber. But it was not unguarded.

  Seated cross-legged before it was a giant of a man.

  The moment Fril turned the corner, the man opened his eyes—despite Fril having made no sound.

  Fril froze.

  An immense magical aura radiated from the man.