The lavish manor of the Benton Family was now filled with blood, dread, and the miserable screams of its family members.
Sword light flashed, and a middle-aged man's head fell off his shoulder, blood gushing from the neck like a vermilion fountain.
With another swing of the sword, a woman protecting a child was murdered in cold blood.
…Both of them were.
The masked man did not know how many family members had fallen to his sword. He knew that it was a lot, though. The constant screams and wails had turned his heart cold.
And with every swing of his sword, his heart grew colder still. Until all that remained was nothing but apathy.
Cold, cold, apathy.
Men, women, the elderly, and even children… everyone who had Benton blood flowing in them was indifferently massacred.
The masked man made sure to do so.
He had to.
He needed to.
All the maids, the servants, and the Magi who had sworn allegiance to this once illustrious family had already been butchered.
