The day’s battle ended within the Union Magi’s expectations.

Although the eastern and western battlefields displayed more or less the same results, the same couldn’t be said about the central battlefield.

With the sudden infiltration of the Dark King deep within the enemy’s ranks, the enemy was thrown into chaos. As a result, there were large casualties on their side.

Additionally, the Dark King had managed to casually slay three Mana Core Magi, while the rest had scattered in fright. Because of that, the chain of command was thrown into disarray, resulting in large casualties among the Mana Vortex Magi and below.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, both armies withdrew to their camps. Injured people were tended to, and plans for the following day had started forming already.

The morale in the Union Magi’s camp was jubilant, to say the least. Word spread quickly about the arrival of the Dark King. Just his presence alone was a great boost to these soldiers.

Although they had never met this legendary figure, they had all heard about his exploits. It was because of his action in the recent past that these soldiers were able to get an edge on their enemies.

These soldiers truly believed that as long as the Dark King was on their side, they could overcome any obstacles. Such was the power of morale.

It spread through the ranks without effort. The fear that these soldiers felt faded with his arrival, and their doubts gave way to resolve. Even the wounded soldiers seemed to have found the strength to rise again.

Because now they truly believed that victory wasn’t just possible, it was certain.

In the central camp, a spacious tent had been newly erected for the Dark King. Outside, a handful of Mana Vortex Magi of the Union stood guard, their eyes flickering with excitement.

Of course, the Dark King did not need any protection. These men were simply there to carry out any requests made by him. In the periphery of the tent, several soldiers had gathered. Their fiery gaze locked onto the tent’s entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of the heroic figure.

But the Dark King did not come out of his tent since he entered. While Shaw Jidu and the other Mana Core Magi sent word of his arrival to the other commanders, he retreated into the peaceful confines of solitude.

The tent was spacious and bare. A simple bed stood at one side, and on the other side sat a mirror beside a wash basin. Nothing else filled the space. Nothing else was required.

Adam stood before the mirror, gazing at his visage with a blank look in his dark eyes. He could barely recognize himself.

Long, untamed hair slid down his back, reaching his waist. Wild beard framed his youthful face. His nails were caked in dirt and dried blood. Though his upper body was marked with lines of dry crimson, there were no injuries.

All his injuries had healed. Every last one of them.

Though his physical body was in impeccable shape, the same couldn’t be said about his mental state.

Being constantly on the move, killing powerful enemies, drawing blood with every breath he took, all of it had left a scar on his mind in the past two years. But nothing compared to the mental scar of having taken innocent lives.

Inadvertently, of course. He had tried not to let bystanders be swept up in his battles against the cultists. He had tried his best. But he failed on several occasions. The guilt weighed heavily on him.

No matter how much he tried to tell himself that such a thing was inevitable, that he couldn’t help it, that he could never save them all, his heart refused to listen. The war had changed him.

Balthazar’s words echoed in his mind.

Heavy lies the head that wears the crown.

Adam exhaled a heavy breath and threw the depressing matters to the back of his mind. Now was not the time to wallow in misery. When the war ended, he would have enough time to self-reflect. Not now.

He needed to be strong. For the people looking up to him, he had to stand proud and tall as a beacon of hope. If a crack appeared in his confidence now, then what of the hundreds of thousands of soldiers who looked up to him for moral support?

No, he couldn’t have that. He had to be strong.

Adam strangled the negative emotions of guilt and despair threatening to swallow him whole, and then his lips slowly curled up into a smile. A confident smile.

He retrieved a dagger from his storage pouch hanging by his waist. It was a Grade 4 Artifact he had looted from some cultist he had killed.

Gathering his hair in one hand, he spun the dagger in the other. Mana coated the blade, and with a single, swift motion, he cut his hair to a more manageable length.

With how strong and durable his body had become after his transformation, he needed a sharp artifact coated with his own tyrannical mana just to cut his hair. Normal methods no longer worked.

Now came the tricky part. With the dagger still coated in mana, he began to shave his beard with steady care. It took him another thirty minutes to clean himself up, wiping away the dried blood and grime from his body.

It had been a long time since he could lower his guard, even slightly, and take a moment for himself. Such a thing had been a rare luxury during his journey through the Haynam Empire over the past two years.

After he was done, he now looked like a handsome youth in his late teenage years. He put on a black silk robe and was about to settle into mindfulness. But, in the next instant, his senses picked up on a group of people rushing toward his tent.

They were all familiar.

He put on a carefree smile and turned toward the entrance.

A few seconds later, the flap burst open, and several people rushed in, their faces lit with excitement.

"Adam!"

The gang had arrived.