The Conspiracy

Later, when Jethru discovered the thin, bloodied line across Ivy's neck—just a shallow cut, but enough to mar her porcelain skin—something inside him snapped. His fury was silent but absolute. Without a word, he dragged the bandit leader away, far from the others, to the edge of the riverbank.

There, beneath the shadow of an ancient tree, Jethru raised his sword high—and with a single, precise strike, severed the man's head from his body.

Lara followed at a distance, unseen but not unseeing. She had never witnessed her master lose control. But even when he did, he remained calm, cold... merciless. He seemed transformed—less like the teacher who had trained her in swordplay and more like the legends whispered in wartime barracks. But she understood. Ivy and Ivan were the last of his family. If she were in his place, she might have done the same.