The throne room rumbled as blood splashed everywhere, and the pavement shattered beneath the soldiers' heavy steel boots. The windows rattled and cracked, bathed in sparks under the assault of the countless shockwaves born from the endless clash of steel.
Frella and her soldiers were fewer in numbers, but that still didn't prevent them from holding the rebels back. The noble dying at the start helped crush the attacker's morale.
But as it seems, morale and loyalty weren't the only things making those soldiers fight. The noble was just their spokesperson, their front cover, and something else pushed them forward.
Dancing between the countless blades trying to cleave her head, Frella's eyes burned as she cleaved one of the rebels in half with her greatsword, washing the others in his blood and guts.
