An indefinable smell hung in the council hall, like sweat, candle wax, and the lingering stench of blood mixed together.
Commander Barron's body had been moved aside, but no one had wiped the blood from the floor.
That sword strike had been too sudden, too absurd.
Everyone realized one thing: Kyle Raymont was no longer a young lord they could reason with.
The nobles stood around the long table. No one dared sit down anymore.
Some argued in hushed voices, some babbled prayers, and others kept insisting, "The gates are still holding. The garrison is still here," as though saying those words could keep the situation under control.
"We have to stabilize the Knight Order first."
"Isolate the young lord. At least... at least keep him from getting another sword."
"No! He just killed Barron! Who do you think would dare go near him now?"
Panic continued to ferment amid their words.
No one noticed that the air in the distant corridor was changing.
The first to sense something wrong was a young viscount standing by the wall.
He abruptly stopped speaking and cocked his head to listen.
There were footsteps, but they were not human footsteps.
They sounded like nails scraping stone, or a heavy body dragging across the floor, intermittent yet rapidly approaching.
"Do you... hear that?"
Before he finished speaking, the heavy doors of the council hall shuddered violently.
The next instant, a gash was torn through the middle of the wooden doors.
Iron bands twisted, wood splintered, and a cold gust carrying the smell of blood and alchemical potions poured inside.
A noble screamed uncontrollably.
Dark shapes surged through the doorway.
The knights in the council hall were quick to react.
Several heavily armored knights immediately formed ranks, leveling their spears as Battle Aura lit up