"Huu… that was faster than I expected."
The night air was heavy with the stench of blood, smoke, and charred remains.
Lucius stepped out of the crumbling remnants of Geralt's grand estate, the sound of his boots echoing through the eerily silent compound. His black cloak billowed in the wind, brushing against the ground as he stood in the center of what was once a thriving fortress.
Now, it was nothing more than a desolate graveyard.
Lucius tilted his head back, taking in the sight of his handiwork. The scorched earth, broken walls, and lifeless bodies strewn across the battlefield all painted a cruel portrait of his depraved actions—not that it bothered him in the slightest.
Instead, a cold smile tugged at his lips.
"Not bad," he muttered to himself, his voice as soft as the night breeze yet carrying the weight of his dominance.
