Slowly, Leon turned away. The faint crunch of frost beneath his boots echoed like brittle glass shattering in silence as he walked across the frost-covered stones, leaving behind only silence and the terrible artistry of vengeance fulfilled.
Arriving at the edge of the arena, he looked down below. The sound of metallic clashes was over now. The corpse was still smoldering, tendrils of smoke curling from charred flesh. The most important thing was that his head was not attached to his body and was lying far away.
He was dead, and a few meters beside him was Seraphine without even a scratch on her body. Her breathing was also stable, not even a bit of sweat on her skin. Her long hair fluttered in the breeze, untouched by battle.
She handled it well — clean and precise, just like I expected.
