The battle cries of the warriors accompanied their charge, yet like the leaves of an autumn tree that was shaken by a curious lad, one after the other, they fell. As if granted by supernatural powers by a divine entity, or demonic one depending on the onlooker, the Duke decimated all the Norsmundi who dared block his path towards the chief-thane, eliminating three to five men in one fell swoop at a time.
An ominous mana is seeping from him, the chief-thane judged, unmistakably. He already lost his sanity. I cannot fathom why would he do such thing to himself. Was his intention to rely on borrowed power? Or was it not his own doing? Either way, I pity him.
"Chief-thane, let the shamans treat your wounds," one of his honor guard suggested.
"Arcanium…"
"What? Never mind that, Chief-thane Dariun. You have to retreat before your wounds get infected. We can still reattach your arm through magic."
