Bang!
The mansion's front doors burst inward with a violent crash.
Splintered wood rattled across the marble floor as Lexton strode through the entrance like a man kicking open the gates of a conquered city. Resting comfortably on his shoulder was his newest prize—a massive warhammer, its iron head still stained from the last job.
He grinned.
"Now this is more like it."
Behind him, half a dozen mercenaries poured into the entrance hall, boots grinding dirt and gravel into the polished floor.
One of them—thin, sharp-eyed, and perpetually nervous—peered around uneasily.
"Boss… don't you think something's strange?"
Lexton didn't even look back.
"Everything's strange to you."
"No, seriously." The man gestured toward the empty hall. "This place is huge. Look at it—paintings, carpets, statues. But there's no guards. No servants. Nothing."
His voice lowered.
"And it's the middle of the night."
Lexton stopped walking.
