She felt it immediately—waves of strange energy emanating from where Jolthar stood, unlike any aura she had felt in all her years of warfare or any. It was different than any swordsman or warrior; the aura was primal and brimming with raw power, which made her instincts prod and her curiosity piqued.
Her gaze settled on Dagur's fallen form, recognition immediate.
The barbarian warlord's reputation had spread far beyond his territories, his raids a constant thorn in the Empire's side for years. That he lay dead was significant—politically, militarily, and personally—for many who had suffered under his brutality.
She looked at the sword wound on Dagur and the blood on Jolthar's sword. She could feel three different variants radiating around him: green, silver, and grey, a mix of all three coloured energies.
A deep frown appeared on her; it was like anything she had seen.
