The west wing had crumbled to rubble. Enemy forces now surged from both the north and south, encircling the royal palace, trapping the Royal Guards and King Valentin's allies inside.
When he arrived, the scene was grim. Lisbeth was barely on her feet, her breath ragged, while her plump friend lay unconscious in the hallway.
"Father..." she whispered as King Valentin landed before her. Her voice trembled, and her eyes filled with tears that mixed with the black blood staining her face as they fell.
Her battered half-armor offered little protection now, torn and slashed in countless places. Her once radiant silver hair was matted with grime and blood, clinging to her bruised skin. Her face, covered with deep cuts, was a painful contrast to the fierce determination in her expression.
