With Lucavion's blade still dripping with the blood of the fallen thug, Valeria finally took a moment to glance around—and what she saw made her stomach twist.
Bodies lay strewn across the inn, limbs sprawled and weapons clutched in lifeless hands, their faces frozen in expressions of fury, fear, or surprise. Blood pooled around them in the dark, spreading stains, painting the wooden floor in deep reds. The once-bustling inn had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the faint, metallic scent of blood filling the air.
Her chest tightened the sheer brutality of the scene crashing over her like a wave. These men—each one who had pressed in on them with intent to kill—now lay dead at her feet. All of them, she realized, her pulse quickening. She hadn't been trained for this—hadn't imagined the aftermath of battle to look like this. Every fight she'd known before had purpose, and rules; there were always survivors, and always a sense of restraint. But here…
