No more words were spoken, for they all knew their tasks. Sir Dolorem swung the blade like the scythe of the death itself. No time wasted, no questions asked, the sharp edges of the sword touched and pierced through the crying baron.
"No! Please… You are mistak—"
Thud!
Words had no meaning coming out of a man like him. The severed head fell on the floor with a sound, and the torso sprayed blood before taking a few steps back and dropping as well.
"I wish such heathens could be detected and terminated in their mother's wombs itself." Sir Dolorem commented, cursing nearly.
Sylvester didn't respond, as his priority was the girl who silently wailed. Her eyes watered down non-stop as she continued to stare at Sylvester's face.
