Two figures stepped into the entrance of the grand hall, their presence oppressive, their very aura soaked in blood and killing intent. One had long, braided gray hair, his expression unreadable, while the other had wine-colored hair tied in a sleek ponytail, his eyes dark and brooding.
Jerry and Reginald entered with measured strides, their faces devoid of emotion, yet the weight of what they had done clung to them like a thick shroud. The room fell into a tense silence, all eyes fixed on the two men as they approached Ethan.
'How was it?' Ethan's voice rang through their minds, calm yet sharp.
'Successful, but…' Jerry's voice carried a rare hint of hesitation.
'More than seventy-five percent are dead,' Reginald added grimly. 'Men, women, children… even the elderly. None were spared.'
