The spatial tear deposited Percival into the darkness of Luvengart's underbelly. He was alone, standing in the barrow, damp alleyway smelling of stale rain and refuse. He remembered meeting the Portal Mage here.
Percival remained in his position for a while, his chest rising and falling as he breathed slowly, trying to calmly regain himself, and his thoughts.
The adrenaline of the chase was gone now, now he had to face the reality of what he had done.
He had killed Liraeth Windwhisper.
It felt good. It felt really, really good.
In fact, it felt so good that despite everything, if he could go back, he would still do it.
But at the same time, Percival couldn't escape the punishment. The deal was, he hadn't just eliminated a betrayer from his past life; he had butchered a Hero formally representing the realm.
And he had done it in front of the Great Scholar and nineteen of her peers. Worse, he had killed a daughter of Elven royalty.
