"Young Master!" the elder with silver hair bellowed, his voice cutting through the howling winds. "What have you done?"
Verion stood silently, his blue eyes glinting coldly beneath the swirling snow.
His blood-streaked sword rested lightly at his side, the crimson droplets falling in rhythmic splashes against the pristine white ground.
The two elders behind the silver-haired man exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes darting from the corpses of the guards to the young master.
But the elder at the front forced his composure, his expression hardening.
He scrutinized Verion, his gaze lingering on the blade in Verion's hand and the lifeless bodies lying in the snow.
He made a decision. Play it safe.