The arrow trembled in Arthur's hand.
He had caught it just inches from his forehead.
He slowly turned his gaze toward the direction it had come from.
Vampiric Vision flared to life.
The world sharpened.
Lines of trajectory, wind currents, and even the residual mana on the arrow became clear to him. He traced the path back effortlessly, seeing where the shot had been released from as if it had happened in slow motion.
A short distance away.
A group of around twenty knights advanced toward him.
They wore polished armor engraved with the sigil of a roaring lion on their breastplates and pauldrons. Their helmets were open-faced, revealing stern features; some had scars, others had eyes that had clearly seen far too many battles. Each knight carried a sword or spear, their steps synchronized and disciplined.
At the front of the group walked a girl around Arthur's age.
