At the Dark guild of Avermoor town, the iron door of one of the guild's room opened.
The Guild Master stepped inside, his presence commanding. He was a tall, broad man with a scary face and a gray beard. He scanned the room, looking at scattered bodies. Behind him, a few workers followed, their faces pale and uneasy.
The room smells of blood and decay. The room, dimly lit by lanterns, looked like a makeshift morgue. Ten bodies lay scattered on the dusty floor, each covered with blood-soaked white cloth.
The Guild Master walked to the nearest corpse, crouched down and pulled back the stained sheet. His breath caught for a moment, though his face stayed calm.
Under the cloth was one of the guild's most feared mercenary. he was a legend, known for his ruthless skills. But now, his body was a horrifying sight—split in half from gut to skull, his flesh torn and jagged, his blood dried to a sickly dark color.
