The king's guards fell like wheat before the scythe, their cries of alarm silenced by the swift and merciless blades of the assassin knights. In the heart of the fortress, they confronted the tyrant king himself, a figure wreathed in shadows and crowned with a crown of thorns.
A fierce battle ensued, the clash of steel and the crackle of dark magic filling the air with a palpable sense of impending doom. Sirah's daggers danced like silver serpents, finding their mark with unerring accuracy,