Easily, Vol dodged it. The knife came searching for his stomach, but it was nearly a full half a second too late. By the time it reached where Vol had been, Vol was already behind Swallow. The pretty man, with his girlish features, accepted his death meekly. He stood, waiting for the strike to his back that he was certain would come. Vol did not deny him. Right between the man's shoulder blades, using his small throwing axe, he dug deep and cut him down.
Now they were all dead. Every single one of the comrades that Nolan had spent years cultivating. Everything that he'd thrown at Vol with the express purpose of taking him down, knowing full well that was what he needed to do, in order to have any chance at besting him.
It was only the man himself left. The Stormfront soldiers were wiped out, and the last of Nolan's men – some seventy of them – were now firmly on the backfoot, and Borne, Jev, and the goblins joined the attack, forcing them backwards.
