Blades clashed and sparks scattered.
The tunnel became a storm of movement—twisting shadows, flickering steel, and bloodstained rock. The attackers were precise. Trained. Each of them moved with disciplined rhythm, like pieces of a well-oiled machine.
Not ordinary mercenaries.
Kai flipped backward, barely dodging a sweeping arc from a curved blade. The tip sliced through a strand of his hair. He retaliated with a volley of poisoned senbon, two of which struck the masked enemy in the thigh. The man stumbled but didn't fall.
Poison resistance? No—controlled breathing. Suppressing the toxin.
Kai's eyes narrowed. Whoever these people were, they weren't amateurs.
Corrin fought like a caged beast beside him—raw, relentless, slashing wide arcs with his crescent blade, forcing their opponents to keep distance. Blood slicked his cheek, but he didn't back down.
