Aragon stood amidst the scattered bodies, a surreal tableau of violence and chaos. The onlookers, including the young prince and Elizleta, gazed at him with wide-eyed fear etched across their faces. Ozeln himself was frozen in a state of utter shock, his eyes fixed on Aragon. Even the soldiers, their weapons now lowered, were transfixed, their expressions a mix of bewilderment and awe.
Sheathing his sword, Aragon shook his hands and attempted to rid his hands of the lingering bloodstains, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that had unfolded. With each step, he retraced his path back towards his horse, his gaze never faltering despite the weight of the moment.
In the midst of this tense atmosphere, the soldier who had been dispatched to the mansion returned, accompanied by Richbane and several armed knights. Their imposing armor and drawn swords spoke of their readiness for battle. However, their advance came to an abrupt halt as they beheld the grisly scene before them.
