The sight that greeted them was nothing short of shocking.
The bandits—the same men who had swaggered into the hall hours earlier, their leers fixed on women and children—now lay curled on the ground like trussed animals. Their hands were wrenched behind their backs, bound with layer upon layer of belts, sashes, and torn ribbons until their arms turned purple with strain. Their legs were swaddled so tightly that from hip to ankle they resembled grotesque mummies, stripped of dignity and motion alike.
Filthy socks and soiled nappies gagged their mouths, muffling curses into pitiful grunts. Their tunics hung in tatters, and claw marks were visible across their arms and faces. Blood trickled from scratches carved by desperate nails, staining their cheeks in angry red rivulets.
They groaned through the makeshift gags, eyes blazing with hatred. Even from a distance, Asael could feel the raw fury emanating from the badly beaten men.
