The moment he looked down at himself, he froze. His insides instantly went cold, like he had swallowed a bucket of cold water. His left hand had, at some unknown time, been cuffed with an iron chain, while his right was still brandishing his sword. The weapon was currently raised high into the air, merely seconds away from falling over his left wrist.
Right before he lowered his right arm, he took another glance in front of him. The scene once again caused his blood to boil, a ravaging anger sweeping like a wave over his chest. There, right in front of his eyes, a stranger armed with a sharp dagger was holding onto his brother. The tip of that man's weapon was pressed against his brother's throat. A red trail of blood followed the line of that pale, slender neck, painting a disconcerting image.
