The Shattered Scrubblade

The uniform clatter of the Black Market faded into an unnatural silence, giving way to the whispering caress of the night breeze. Merchants paused in their dealings, and passersby turned their attention toward the brewing confrontation, their gazes gleaming with curiosity.

Kal, gripping the broken sword in his right hand, swung it leisurely before his face, the blade reflecting the flickering lantern lights around them. Behind him, his subordinates stood with their arms crossed, their postures oozing mockery, as if they had already won whatever battle was about to unfold.

Across from them, Beorn's teeth ground together, veins bulging at the side of his head, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles paled. Sweat trickled down his cheeks, his fury barely restrained.