The Second Apostle's Doubt

"Ahem!"

Inside an old hut, a mysterious man draped in a black cloak coughed.

He covered his mouth with his palm, and when he pulled it away, a smear of blackish-red blood stained his hand.

"This is really troublesome," he muttered coldly, slowly pushing himself up to sit on the bed.

Outside, the sounds of crickets and crows echoed through the night, casting a quiet yet eerie atmosphere over the hut.

However, the expression beneath his hood remained calm and indifferent, as if none of it mattered.

He tried to stand, but his legs faltered. Quickly, he reached out and steadied himself against the wall.

"Even after more than three months, my internal injuries still haven't healed," he murmured irritably.

If Leon were here, he would no doubt be shocked—perhaps even laugh—because this man was his enemy, the Second Apostle of the Temple of Twilight, who had narrowly escaped their last battle.