Chapter 37: Join Me
The dust of the ambush settled, revealing a scene of brutal efficiency.
Torvin the Tank was a broken heap against the far wall. Elara the Healer was a still form in the center of the room, her light extinguished by Ragnar’s own shadowy hand.
Two other Liberators had been cut down by his elite monsters.
And Isabelle Thorne, the Sword Saint of Aethelburg, knelt on the cold stone, her leg pierced by a traitor’s arrow, her legendary katana clutched in a white-knuckled grip.
Her eyes, usually burning with heroic fire, now flickered with a mixture of pain, shock, and dawning horror.
Kael, the archer who had shot her, stood frozen, his bow clattering to the floor. The [Dark Induction] had faded, leaving him staring at his hand, then at Isabelle, his face a mask of utter self-loathing and confusion.
"I... I didn’t... Why?" he stammered, before collapsing to his knees, head in his hands, sobs wracking his body.
Ragnar Vhagar watched, a cold, predatory smile playing on his pale lips.
Masakado and the other swordsman had fled, their heroic pronouncements dissolving into panicked shrieks as they scrambled back down the stairs. Good riddance. They were collateral damage he’d deal with later. His prize was here.
"Well, well, Sword Saint," Ragnar purred, his voice a smooth baritone that seemed to absorb the dim light.
He took a slow step towards her, his movements fluid and unnervingly graceful for someone who used to trip over his own feet in his previous life.