High General Rathen was a man who had practically lived in war. A veteran whose enemies trembled at the mere mention of his name. A man regarded highly throughout the Ferran Empire, worshipped by many. However, this same man was currently bouncing his leg with an anxious look.
'How…? There shouldn't have been any traces.'
As the head of the Ferran Academy, he was basically a hound in a den of lions. He had been placed here because he was considered a neutral party. However, lions would always be lions, forever trying to prove they held the power, especially the most vicious of them all, the Sarakhel.
For devils like them, there was nothing off limits when it came to getting what they wanted.
Which was why, for a man in his position, he had taken extra, extra precautions to hide away any weakness that might be used against him. Now, that weakness had been uncovered and was currently being used against him.
'Touch a single hair on her head… and I'll bury every last one of you.'
