The Duke of Bloodust died, meeting a most gruesome end.
His soul was shredded to dust, his body torn asunder, leaving not a shred of possibility for resurrection.
The ritual that extracted life essence could not be gleaned from his obliterated soul, and his palace yielded no records of the ceremony.
In any other circumstance, the world's liberation from such a nefarious entity and the eradication of his cruel sorceries would be cause for jubilation.
Yet, the assembled fifth-stage extraordinary beings found no joy in this moment.
"Have all the rituals and spells been preserved?"
Ansel inquired calmly, gazing through the window of a modest wooden abode at the refugees crowding the citadel.
This hastily orchestrated "assassination," despite Ansel's best efforts, remained too unrefined. It wouldn't take long for many to detect anomalies and inconsistencies.
But fortunately, time was a luxury they no longer possessed.
