"Huggesen... Huggesen!"
In the Military Governor's tent within the Shadow Valley, God's Chosen of The Master of Hunting once again heard that low and ethereal call in their sleep, as if a ship sailing on a dim sea where everything in sight was dark, except for a thread of light before it guiding it ever closer to the shore of faith.
Huggesen awoke in the dream.
It opened its eyes to see a world painted in blood, pathways and stairs strewn with corpses stretched beneath its feet, leading directly to the skeletal throne ahead.
How many times has it faced such a scene?
The Divine General couldn't help but ask itself.
In recent times, this vision of faith has been constantly eroding it, deepening the gnawing and pulling at Huggesen's mind, as if calling it to merge into this blood-soaked world of slaughter.
If it were another Wolf Person here, they would've long bowed in worship to the blood-colored Giant Spirit seated on the skeletal throne, but Huggesen was different.
