The first masked warrior moved like a phantom.
His black blade cut through the crimson smoke, aiming straight for Julian’s heart.
Julian barely raised his sword in time.
CLANG!
The impact sent him sliding several feet across the marble floor.
“What madness is this?” Julian roared.
“I am your king!”
The assassin tilted his head.
“You were never our king.”
His emotionless voice echoed beneath the iron mask.
“You were merely… useful.”
⸻
The Great Hall froze.
Even the fighting stopped.
Both sides stared at the newcomers.
There were twelve of them.
Every warrior wore identical black armor engraved with a silver serpent devouring its own tail.
Not a single inch of skin was visible.
Only cold eyes peered through narrow slits in their masks.
⸻
Sir Roland’s grip tightened around
