Last night, in the Vaise main estate.
As the pale subordinates of Zephyr rushed forward, they were cut down by a single swipe of Argon's blade.
The man didn't falter.
Not for a breath, not for a heartbeat.
His massive frame surged forward, the greatsword carving the air with a thunderous shriek of steel.
Every swing was finality incarnate—pale figures split apart like brittle clay, their broken bodies hurled aside in pieces.
Bloodless fragments scattered across the marble floor as Argon's aura tore through them, each strike enough to shatter walls.
It was then that Valeria's voice cut through the clash like a desperate blade.
"Stop! You have to stop!"
Her cry cracked with urgency. Her hands clutched the seat so hard her nails snapped.
"They're undead!"
Argon's sword froze mid-swing—only for a fraction of a second. The weight of her words echoed across the battlefield, louder than the steel itself.
Valeria rose to her feet, trembling but resolute.
