Jorin and Myla moved like shadows woven into the darkness itself, their strikes swift, precise, and merciless. The first guards never had a chance to react—throats opened, chests split, steel driving deep before they even understood what was happening. In a blur of movement and blood, ten men lay slain, their bodies collapsing into silent heaps, staining the stone floor in crimson. Only then did the surviving guards at last realize the slaughter that had erupted behind their orderly ranks.
Panic flashed across their faces as they turned to see the cloaked figures cutting through their comrades like death given form. Two of them, realizing the danger, broke formation and sprinted forward, desperation guiding their steps as they sought to reach Drosmir's reinforcements stationed farther up the hallway, two hundred meters away.
They didn't make it ten.
