Meanwhile, on the other side, the scene was grim as Baron Geisler and his squad of knights approached the site where Maxillian's mangled body lay sprawled.
The air was thick with the acrid scent of death, mingled with the damp musk of disturbed earth.
The knights, clad in gleaming silver armor adorned with the sigil of the Geisler house—a snarling wolf beneath a crescent moon—spread out in a disciplined formation.
Each step they took was deliberate, their boots crunching against the dirt with a sound that reverberated in the eerie stillness.
Baron Geisler dismounted his jet-black steed with practiced ease, his sharp eyes scanning the area.
Despite the sight of his son's twisted and lifeless form, his expression remained stony and detached.
His face, angular and lined with the marks of a man accustomed to command, betrayed no flicker of emotion.
"Secure the perimeter," he ordered in a cold, measured tone.
