The fury of battle still coursing through his veins, Arran rushed through the valley, chasing the remaining raiders with an insatiable thirst for blood. Where he found them, they died, and each death further fed his rage.
The bloodlust grew stronger with every kill, and the stronger it grew, the more eagerly he killed. Even with an army of a hundred thousand before him, he would have attacked without hesitation.
Yet here, the enemy numbers were limited. And with each enemy he killed, it took him longer to find the next one. The search frustrated him, and he ran faster, killed more quickly, fearful of losing even a single one of his prey.
When he reached the mouth of the valley, he could see tracks leading in all directions. Impatient to continue the massacre, he chose one at random, then rushed forward with the boundless strength that surged through his body.
