The silence was shattered by the sound of deliberate footsteps approaching. Netta's head snapped up, her eyes locking onto the figure of Malgorth. He stood there, a sword gripped firmly in his hand, his presence commanding.
"You fools get to live another day, thanks to that idiot," he sneered.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the sword. The blade spun through the air, before slicing cleanly through the rope. The sound was a sharp thwack, followed by the thud of bodies hitting the stone floor.
Cilia's breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed herself up, her muscles screaming in protest. She froze as her gaze fell upon the sword that lay mere inches from her, its edge stained with blood.
"She was foolish enough to get herself killed. Better at someone else's hands than mine," Malgorth sneered. "I would have torn her limb from limb after taking my army."
