The echo of iron-shod boots filled the palace corridors, ringing sharp and steady like the beating of a war drum.
The Praetorian Guard moved with military precision, their ranks disciplined and unyielding as they swept through the palace.
At their head was Commander Leman Berta, his golden-plumed helmet marking him as the commander of the palace defenses.
His emerald-green cloak billowed behind him as he strode through the marble halls, his piercing eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, every detail out of place.
The intruder was gone.
He knew that.
But Berta wasn't the type to leave a stone unturned.
Not here.
Not in his palace.
The moonlight filtered through the high windows, casting long streaks of silver across the polished floors.
Behind him marched ten of his finest guards, their curved scuta shields and polished spears gleaming even in the dim light.