The towering barbarian leader stood amidst the carnage, his broad chest heaving with exertion, though his expression betrayed no fear—only a twisted amusement. His lips curled into a mocking grin, exposing jagged teeth stained with the remnants of his past battles.
He scanned the scene before him, taking in the severed arms of his comrades and the blood-soaked earth as though it were some grand spectacle put on for his entertainment.
"You've got some fight in you, I'll give you that," he rumbled, his voice thick with condescension. His eyes gleamed with savage delight, their depths reflecting the lust for battle that burned within him.
Reynold's gaze remained cold, his grip tightened on the hilt of his blade, the air around him crackling with tension.
"Retreat now," he warned, "or you'll all die here."
