Inside the main hall of the Slave Trade Guild, the atmosphere was solemn and suffocatingly heavy.
A grim silence hung in the air, broken only by the shallow breathing of those present.
Many wore deep frowns, their brows furrowed tightly, while others clenched their fists until their knuckles turned white. Rage, disgust, and restrained fury churned within their eyes.
All of them stared at the group of men lying on the cold stone floor.
Blood pooled beneath their broken bodies, soaking into the cracks between the ground.
Some groaned weakly, their breaths uneven and shallow, while others lay completely still, faces twisted in agony.
Many of them would not have hesitated to kill every single one of them if not for two reasons.
The first was the explicit order they had yet to receive from their guild master.
The second was Thoren's presence.
