Ludwig's expression tightened, lips curling down, eyes narrowing. The situation had spiraled beyond even his worst expectation. The King alone was a calamity. Now, in the corner of his vision, a notification ticked upward mercilessly: the counter of lives lost.
Eight thousand dead. Rising.
At ten thousand, the quest would fail.
He clenched Oathcarver's hilt until his knuckles whitened, mind racing. He would have to deal with both, the Werewolf and the King. The thought chilled him.
And then a voice thundered, shaking the earth itself.
"STOP RIGHT THERE!"
The command tore through the chaos like a thunderclap, carrying the weight of authority and fury all at once. The howl rattled shattered windows, sent loose stones tumbling down broken walls, and made even the Moon Reavers hesitate mid-stride.
