The Rusted Fang had descended into absolute chaos.
The sound of steel clashing, bodies hitting the ground, and men screaming filled the once-lively bar. Tables were overturned, shattered tankards spilled ale across the floor, and the thick, acrid scent of burning flesh tainted the air.
And at the center of it all—
The black-haired bastard stood untouched.
His expression was calm, almost bored, as if the fight had barely required his attention. Around him, the mercenaries who had been so eager to challenge him were now writhing on the ground, howling in agony.
Some clutched their severed limbs—legs, hands, even chests split open—while others simply trembled, too shocked to comprehend what had happened in those few fleeting seconds.
Caius stared at the carnage, his body rigid. He hadn't even seen half of those attacks.
Then—
A voice roared over the chaos.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!"
The air in the bar shifted.
Caius felt it immediately—the sheer weight of that voice.
