Darion stood in the middle of the street. On the tall building, Seren by his side.
All around him, Vrethka had fallen silent.
The warriors who had once filled the settlement with shouts and battle cries were now kneeling. Weapons lay scattered across the ground. Swords. Spears. Axes. Shields. Everything that had once represented Vrethka's strength now rested uselessly in the dirt.
Some warriors had their heads lowered. Others stared at Darion with fear. A few looked at him with complete disbelief, as though they were still trying to understand how everything had gone so horribly wrong.
And among them were warriors who clearly didn't want to kneel. Some had their fists clenched. Others looked toward their fallen comrades. Some even tried to rise. But the moment they moved, one of Darion's undead knights would step toward them (Darion initiated the command). A single look was enough. Those warriors quickly returned to their knees. Nobody wanted to be the next person to die.
