On the tenth day of the confrontation between the Western and the Southern Army, Malcolm and Duvue—the commanders of the Western Army—finally realized what was something amiss.

“I haven’t seen Fricks for the past few days.”

It had been more than a week since Fricks appeared on the battlefield, but that was not the only suspicious part.

“Those bastards also looked a bit down these past few days. Don’t you think so?”

“Certainly. They were dying to eat us alive until just last week.”

The Southern Army was so passive and calm that the commanders wondered if the Southern Army would remain that way until the skirmish ended.

“I don’t think they’ll deliberately show to their enemies that they’ve gotten weaker. I think they’re employing a psychological tactic here.”

“I think so, too. It also bothers me that Fricks is still missing.”

The two commanders put their heads together. They were about to agree on a wait-and-see plan, but a demon interrupted them by rushing into the barracks.

“Reporting! We found this near our front line last night!”

“What is that?”

The demon brought with him a wooden box.

The box was extremely cold.

“There’s a head inside of it.”

“A head?”

Duvue opened the box and fell speechless along with Malcolm.

“...Hmm.”

“I don’t understand.”

The head of the missing Fricks was in the box.

The two commanders frowned deeply.

‘This isn’t fake. I can still feel Frick’s demonic energy from this head.’

‘This is definitely Frick’s demonic energy signature, but the problem is… why and how?’

Fricks’ inexplicable...