Linnetia "Nyx" Paine’s POV.

With the betrayal of one of our War Gods, I had to wonder if the old man could keep up. Despite his power, Kaladin’s grandpa hadn’t managed to kill the two Inquisitors. It was true he had easily eliminated plenty of the useless chaff while also not hurting any of my agents, but…

He might get overwhelmed. And if we have to fight these two Inquisitors and a traitor War God alone, we won’t be making it out of here alive.

I steadied my hands and launched another arrow alongside the old man’s magic. Before, it was useless to get involved with his fight. I couldn’t keep up and was only a burden, so I focused on what I could. But now, that was a luxury I couldn’t afford.

I hoped that if, at the bare minimum, my arrow missed, then his magic would connect, but Mason Fields dodged the spell with inhuman reaction times and, with one of his maces, smashed my bolt-sized arrow mid-air, sending splinters scattering across the arena.

Disgustingly powerful. How can a natural born Human perceive and react in such a way? Mana and magic in this world are genuinely frightening. Anyone can be born with the powers of an augmented super soldier…

Thinking idle thoughts that I didn’t have time for, I continued to send arrows down range in barely perceivable blurs. I left the riff-raff to my agents and Kaladin’s grandfather in hopes of landing a single arrow against one of these more powerful targets.

The fiery golden explosions continued to rock the stadium, sending chunks of stone into the air. The arena was basically unrecognizable at this point, and it was only a matter of time before the entire structure began to collapse under the power of this old man’s magic.

I spared Kaladin’s grandfather a look to check on his condition. The old man, despite using high-level magic, really seemed fine outwardly. His mana pool must have been extraordinarily expansive. But the question was, would his body break before he ran dry? I thought that was the most likely situation.

For the first time, the three men made a combined effort to strike against Kaladin’s grandfather. The two Inquisitors rushed in from opposite sides while Mason Fields came from the back. I sent an arrow at the older Inquisitor, forcing him to take a moment to dodge, which allowed the old man to attack.

From an outstretched palm, a golden wave erupted and washed over the first Inquisitor. The wave exploded into a brilliant light and sent the Inquisitor flying back into the rubble. Kaladin’s grandfather quickly turned his attention and sent a barrage of swords at the other while I let loose another arrow at Mason Fields. The second younger Inquisitor was forced to back off, either running away or slicing the golden swords down on his own.

Naturally, my arrow was a minor deterrent for the War God, which he knocked down with a single swing. I was quickly forced to dodge an incoming golden hammer that came flying my way from the older Inquisitor; the burned flesh on his arms was being healed rapidly by a golden light emanating from his body.

Light magic, as well. These men are basically walking healing tanks. Nothing short of a critical blow is going to be meaningful at this rate. Now the older Inquisitor is paying attention to me…this is not good.

I dodged another golden hammer, and it exploded and destroyed the stone wall behind me. I crawled over and around the rubble, moving as quickly as possible to reposition myself and hide from the incoming magic that was sure to pulverize me if it even so much as grazed me.

I watched Mason Fields get pushed away by another golden shield from the old man, but I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I heard it and felt the small amount of Bloodlust directed at me and, even amongst the chaos, the years of training ingrained in my body reacted before I fully comprehended the situation.

Instantly, I summoned my sword from my Spatial Ring and swung. There was an ear-piercing ring as I blocked a sword that was about to cut me down. The force of the strike went down my arms, and I could feel it in my jaw. It was like my bones stretched, only to snap back into place. It was a miracle I hadn’t lost my grip.

The younger Inquisitor was attacking me. He had moved so quickly that I didn’t even register that he had come my way. I managed to block and deflect his second swing, but I quickly realized just how outmatched I was. Of course, that didn’t mean I was going to roll over and die.

I parried a swing and whipped my arm around, tossing a handful of rocks at the Inquisitor. He naturally deflected them with a single swing and swatted down the rest. His attack instantly continued, and I purposely retreated up a pile of rubble, swinging down at him from above.

He snarled at me and cursed as I tossed another round of rocks at him. “You pest! Just let me kill you, damn it!”

I deflected his blows, each one leaving my bones creaking and fingers so numb I nearly dropped my weapon. I reached the top of the pile and kicked some loose rocks down at him. He swatted and sliced the rocks down as I reeled back to launch more at him.

But he had finally made his first mistake after I had conditioned him. I was thankful that it seemed the younger Inquisitor couldn’t use magic. As he brought the flat of the blade up to block the rocks he thought were coming. I instead lurched forward.

The Inquisitor was surprised when I kicked his blade and sent him tumbling down the rock pile. Sadly, I couldn’t kick him more aggressively lest I risk losing a leg, but I was more than willing to settle for separating myself from him.

Naturally, I would leave him with a surprise.

I resummoned my bow and let my mana surge through me and into my muscles. I grunted and pulled the heavy string back and, with a crack, let the arrow loose into the tumbling Inquisitor.

Boom.

An explosive blast deafened me as I tumbled amongst the rock and debris. I hadn’t even seen the spell that hit me, and I wasn’t able to see if my arrow had connected. Stones from the arena hit me along my body, and I was thankful for my armor. I made certain to protect my head and neck as I tried to reorient my discombobulated senses. The last thing I needed was to be uncertain of my surroundings and opponents, even if I was injured.

Even more, unfortunately, I wasn’t given such respite. I resummoned my sword and deflected the steel blade right before it came to end my life. Every one of his strikes was overwhelming and shook me to my core. He was at least five times stronger than me and three times as fast.

I can’t keep up anymore, damn it.

“Just die already, you annoying fly,” he spat as he prepared to swing down at me again.

But he was quickly forced to spin on the balls of his feet. He swung horizontally, and one of my agents who came to save me was bisected. He never stood a chance, and neither did I.

Rumble.

The wall next to us shook, and a furious roar of flames rang in my ears. It was like sticking an ear right next to a blazing furnace. A thick stream of red hot fire burst through the wall, and the Inquisitor was forced to defend against it.

The black stone of the stadium glowed red and dripped molten rock onto the ground. A tall man with brown hair and a thick mustache walked through wearing brilliant Mythril armor painted a lustrous silver color. He held a giant two-handed Mythril battle axe that absorbed the dim light of the day in his hand.

His warm brown eyes burned with hatred as he glared out at the stadium grounds. The older Inquisitor and Mason Fields were locked in battle with Kaladin’s grandfather. The old man looked noticeably haggard from earlier, the constant use of spells wearing his decrepit body down.

“War God Vasquez,” I said, my voice a garbled mess.

“Worry not, Finger. I’ll handle things now,” Lord Vasquez said confidently as he strode off.

I steadied my injured wrist as I spoke into his back, “I’ll offer support. Kill the intruders and the traitor, Mason Fields,” I ordered.

Lord Vasquez stopped and looked over his shoulder. He had a stern look but nodded. “It will be done.”

I was surprised to see him here as we only summoned him as a precaution. Over the last few years, War God Vasquez has stopped taking orders from the king and queen and only answered Prince Xander. He knew what order I stood with, and my words held the same weight as the Captain of the Royal Guard. So, for him to readily agree it showed just how serious things were getting.

The ground beneath the War God was crushed as Lord Vasquez leaped into the fray. His battle axe burned bright, but the flames of his anger burned brighter as he swung with deadly accuracy at the dodging traitor. Two maces locked up the flaming great axe as Mason Fields gave his former colleague a twisted smile.

“Glad you could join us,” he mocked.

“How long?” Lord Vasquez growled as a pillar of flames surrounded him.

Mason Fields dodged backward and shrugged. “Since the start, obviously…?”

Lord Vasquez’s bloodlust rolled off him like a thick blanket, threatening to smother all those around him as he walked out from the flames. “Then die a dog’s death. Bastard.”

"Ooo, I’m sure you would like that,” Mason Fields teased as he instead sprinted off and toward the old man.

Lord Vasquez let flames build up on the edge of his blade as he swung it. The orange flames took on the same form as the axe head and flew off toward the retreating Mason Fields, only for him to drop to the ground to duck underneath it.

But I took that opportunity, and for the first time, I was able to land an arrow on a meaningful target. The bolt-sized arrow smacked against one of Mason Field’s maces and sent it spiraling out of his hands. It might have been insignificant in damage, but removing a weapon from a powerful opponent was about as much as I could hope for.

And I’m running out of arrows…only three more. Damn, I knew I should have just had them commissioned instead of doing it myself.

Something had to change, and it had to change quickly. Even with War God Vasquez coming to assist us, it was only a matter of time. It was still three versus two. Even if my agents had cleaned up most of the remaining insurgents not obliterated by Kaladin’s grandfather, it wasn’t enough.

I’d like to count on Headmaster Taurus, but he shouldn’t be arriving until later tonight via carriage…damn, they must have attacked knowing no loyal War Gods would be stationed in the capital.

Lord Vasquez was locked in combat with Mason Fields as the two Inquisitors began to attack the weakened old man. The older of the two Inquisitors launched a golden hammer, and it impacted a golden barrier, cracking it. It was the first moment of weakness I had witnessed from Kaladin’s grandfather.

The younger closed the distance as the number of spells being tossed out had lessened tremendously. Even so, the old man never faltered, his face as stoic as before. From thin air, a new wand came out of thin air and into his wrinkly hands.

The wooden wand looked simple, but it was the fist-sized blue gemstone at the end that was special. It was a rather large Dungeon Core and the old man held it out and began to form a spell core.

A gigantic golden claymore manifested into the air as a blue gemstone cracked and shattered. The golden sword was as long as three men were tall. It radiated a brilliant golden light and the air around it shimmered with power. It was an awe-inspiring spell fit for a holy warrior.

“Dodge it, boy! Run! Protect him now!” the older Inquisitor barked, but it was too late.

The sword swished through the air, and if you blinked, you would have missed it. The young Inquisitor had barely gone on the back foot as there was another explosive noise and the sound of rubble moving, followed by the impact of the spell.

I shielded my face as dust and rock were kicked up from the force of the explosions. And when it all settled, I couldn't believe my eyes. There was something standing over the fallen Inquisitor, shielding him.

It was large, far larger than any man could ever be. Its muscles were in the realm of monstrous, and it wore torn clothes and a thick red iron collar around its grotesque-sized neck. The creature's back had been ripped wide open, exposing its spine, but the flesh wobbled, regrew, and healed like it was a living mass itself.

What the hell is that thing? And where did it come from?

Lord Vasquez’s flame-covered axe sunk straight into the creature’s arm, chopping it off. But the monstrosity didn’t even flinch as it continued to protect the downed Inquisitor. Instead, its gnarled and twisted flesh began to regrow its hideous arm at a rapid pace.

“Fight back!” the older Inquisitor yelled.

The monster moved and swung its arm like a wrecking ball at Lord Vasquez with such tremendous speed and force that the air whistled. Lord Vasquez brought his axe up to block but was still launched off his feet.

I shot an arrow into the back of the creature’s head, blowing a sizable chunk out of it. The monster faltered and fell to its knees but quickly stood back up. It scoped up a piece of rubble and sent it barreling toward me. I launched myself forward, dodging the stone chunk before it made mincemeat of me.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

By the time I got back up to my feet, I felt a change in the air. My skin tingled, and the hair across my body stood up. The smell of blood, guts, and dust vanished as it got eerily quiet.

There was a bright flash of white light, and everyone turned to where the old man was standing. From his back sprouted ten transcendent golden wings, five on each side of him. The majestic wings fluttered and let off a dazzling display of warmth and radiance. They were wings fit for an angel.

The air around him hummed with power. It felt as if I was looking at pure mana made manifest. Even from all the way back here, I could sense it. It was an otherworldly sight.

“That creature…you have all gone too far. How could you possibly let that man back in? Have you lost your minds? All of you and that cruel monstrosity won’t be returning home,” Rorken stated calmly, his deep voice resonating across the ruined stadium.

“Charge him!” the older Inquisitor barked, panic in his voice.

The mass of muscle barreled toward the old man, but there were heavy thuds and thunderous footsteps as something came bounding over the wall. A black metallic blur went head-first into the creature, stopping it dead in its tracks.

The newcomer was made entirely of Mythril. It had golden horns carved at the top of its head, and its features resembled that of a minotaur from my old world. It was something I had only read about in reports. It was the Headmaster’s personal golem and the symbol of the Taurus family—the Black Bull.

But my awe and astonishment were cut short. I felt a spell core form behind me and barely managed to react in time. I brought my blade up to block, but it shattered on impact, and a black spear that seemingly came from nowhere thrust itself into my chest.

The force of the spear broke my ribs, but I was lucky, incredibly lucky. The day I returned to the capital, a gift from a friend was waiting for me. And that Wyrm scale mail just so happened to have saved me on its first day of usage.

Even the Shadowclan…today might go down as the worst day for the kingdom after all.

From the inky blackness of my shadow, a masked Dark Elf came out and began attacking me. But it was hard to breathe, and I only managed to dodge one thrust before I was suddenly enveloped in a warm wind. My vision jerked as I was whisked away; it was like I had been swallowed by the wind itself, and when I looked down, there was a vague outline of legs and feet made of wind carrying me.

It was another of Headmaster Taurus’s golems, one he had crafted from wind magic. All of my agents had been swept up by similar golems, some made of water or earth, and we were being moved to the middle of the stadium at a rapid pace. The last of the insurgents and Inquisitors tried to cut down the golems, only for another group to replace them.

Mason Fields was locked in combat with Lord Vasquez while the beast was being held back by the Black Bull. It felt as if the tides of battle were finally shifting, but…

From the shadows, multiple Dark Elves sprang out, slicing my agents down and destroying golems with ease. But a large portion of us had been moved next to Kaladin’s grandfather, who was amassing even more power as he closed his eyes. Headmaster Taurus held his staff in hand and directed dozens of golems at the same time.

“Was this enough time, old man?” Headmaster Taurus asked.

“It’ll do,” Rorken said calmly.

A golden barrier flicked to life, but this one was different, or at least it felt different. The color was richer and more holy, somehow. And it didn’t just envelope those of us who had been saved by smaller ones. It protected Lord Vasquez and the Black Bull as well.

Spells made of shadows, arrows, and light magic fell down on the barrier as the monster barreled into it and tried to smash it to pieces. But it didn’t even so much as flicker.

“Be burned by—,” Rorken said.

Slick.

From the old man’s shadow, an ornate black spear burst through his chest. Sending blood splattering over us. Even so, the old man didn’t flinch and just smiled.

“Should have aimed for my head instead of my heart, bastard,” he cackled.

The shadow which had stretched along the rocks and had made it through the barrier before it was raised was expunged. The spear was sent back into the darkness.

At the same time, whitish golden swords numbering in the hundreds instantly came into existence from outside the barrier. They all shimmered with the same brilliance of his wings and, in unison, all crashed down with a colossal force that shook the ground like an earthquake.

There were screams and shouts, but it was impossible to make out anything beyond the barrier that protected us. The outside world was exploding and being burned by holy flames, and after some time, things began to settle.

Once the dust was whisked away, the entire stadium could barely be considered a ruin. Its decimation allowed us to see the main school building clearly, which just so happened to have been on fire. And when looking out into the capital, there were pockets of flames and smoke rising in the air. It was pandemonium.

But we still aren’t done here.

It was impossible to tell how many people had just died. Blood and limbs were scattered about. Bodies crushed underneath rocks or burned. Identifying friends from foes was impossible for the dead. But it wasn’t for those who were still standing.

A field of golden swords pierced the ground, as well as the monstrosity that still managed to survive. Its disgusting flesh warped and bubbled as it reformed in its hunched position. It had balled around the older Inquisitor, leaving him unscathed.

However, the young one was not so lucky. He stood out in the open, his armor torn asunder, his flesh ripped and burnt. His sword was barely a sword anymore, as it was just a metal handle. It was miraculous that he still lived.

“Is that all you have, old man?” the young one taunted one final time.

“No, it’s not. Consecration.”

The golden swords flickered to life, and the light grew in intensity. It was like looking at the sun, and then, they all exploded again. The flash burned my retinas, and all I could see was black. Everyone else also let out a yelp of pain. That was until a warmth spread from my chest, and my eyes came back into focus, and the pain subsided.

If the stadium was ruined before the consecration, now it was nothing but a smoldering pit of ash and molten rock. I, along with Headmaster Taurus, just gawked in awe. An entire structure had essentially been leveled and wiped clean by a single old man far past his prime.

He managed to form hundreds of spell cores, maintain them, and then give them a secondary purpose…just how powerful was this man in his prime? Could anyone have stood a chance? Why didn’t Arotal just take over the world with him at the helm?

The young Inquisitor had been wiped away. There wasn’t even a speck of blood where he once stood. Even the large monster was a smoldering heap of flesh, the signs of its regeneration gone. Sadly, it still moved as the Inquisitor below it climbed out from underneath the corpse.

The brilliant light cast by Kaladin's grandfather’s wings disappeared, and the old man stumbled forward, coughing blood. The wound through his heart had healed but not as it should have. Fresh blood seeped through his white shirt as some of my agents moved to give him medical attention with our light magic.

Because the fight…it just would never end, would it?

With Kaladin’s grandfather falling, the barrier did as well. Mason Fields, flanked by a squad of Dark Elves, rushed toward us, only for Lord Vasquez to intercept them with a few of my agents and golems in tow. Headmaster Taurus sent his Black Bull toward the final Inquisitor and another group of Dark Elves that sprang from the shadows.

We were hopelessly outnumbered as more Dark Elves came into the fray. It seemed a large portion of the Shadowclan, maybe even the entire clan, had turned on us because a single man flanked by a Shadow Dancer came out from the darkness.

It was Chieftain Shadowstorm and the former guard to the king, Parhen. I stood up and readied my bow. I only had one more arrow, so I had to make it count.

“Headmaster, can you fight them?” I questioned.

“It’s not really a choice, is it?” he chuckled bitterly. “I’m stretched thin as I am. But I’ll manage something.”

Humanoid shapes made of earth and fire formed around us and sprinted off toward the two Dark Elves. Then, a bright light appeared above us, sending the tendrils of darkness away. I heard a snicker from the old man, only for him to cough up more blood; his wound was not healing.

“Much appreciated, but I believe you should focus on recovering, Old Timer,” Headmaster Taurus said.

“Just kill that bastard, and it will all be worth it…besides, he’s a bigger schmuck than I a—”

Thwack.

“What?!” Bowen shouted.

Blood spurted out from the old man’s chest as something lodged itself inside of him. It was so fast, but I immediately snapped toward the direction from which it came, which only served to add to my confusion.

An arrow? But how? From where? It didn’t come from the high ground. It came from the direction of the city…that’s…that’s not possible. An arrow can’t fly that far, and I didn’t sense a hint of mana on it.

Even so, an arrow had struck and hit Kaladin’s grandfather in the chest. The old man slumped forward, the light from his orb disappeared, and his immense pressure vanished. It seemed he had died from a sniper from an unknown location.

I couldn’t focus on it. I could only tell Kaladin my failures if we survived all of this. The headmaster spawned more golems using his magic and sent them at Chefitan Shadowstorm, only for the man to slice them apart with his ornate spear. Tendrils of shadows came at us from all directions, but Headmaster Taurus sent a gust of wind out to destroy them.

“Things are not looking good, Young Miss. Most of your men are badly injured, and we are losing in numbers now. I don’t know if Vasquez can kill Mason when he is this outnumbered as well,” Headmaster Taurus said, his tone grim.

The battle was getting bleaker by the moment. We were outnumbered, and the Inquisitor was able to fend off the Black Bull with magic. We needed to meet up with more forces at this point if we didn’t want to get wiped out.

“Let’s retreat using your golems, we can find safety and we can regrou—”

The words caught in my throat, the magic and fighting ceased, and the world went deathly silent. My heart was gripped in an unexplainable sense of dread as if a hand of ice was threatening to rip it out. The bloodlust was beyond anything. No, calling it bloodlust was not correct. It was a primordial fear that no person could muster, but for me, it was not unfamiliar.

It was something I had only felt once, and that was the feeling of death. When I was dead, in the darkness of the void, something was there, watching me only to slip away and for me to wake up here. And now, it had returned in full strength, and it forced everyone still.

I didn’t dare move as the world around us darkened to an unnatural state. It was like the sun vanished, and a black fog had consumed the area. A familiar but hollow laugh echoed.

I let the sounds of armored feet striking the ground walk past me as a tall, pitch-black figure walked past me and stood in front of us. His hair wasn’t just black; it was the same color as the void, nothing. His skin was pale, and somehow, there were strips or tendrils of void cut out from it. Where there should have been flesh, it was just empty space no matter how hard I stared.

His full plate armor was much the same, utterly dark like the void of space. The motifs on it were skulls and chains looking all the part of an evil man, and that, too, had seemingly come from nowhere.

“So, this is the power of a real god?” the familiar voice of Kaladin’s grandfather mused.

But his voice had changed. It was inhuman, almost just like his appearance. It seemed to grate at the back of my mind. All my instincts told me to run regardless of what happened. I was facing down an inconceivable monster, not an old man.

Thwack.

Crush.

With a single swipe of his hand, he knocked down an arrow that whizzed past me. It was the same silver arrow that had killed him.

“Petty tricks won’t work anymore. It’s about time I finish what I started,” Rorken said as he strode forward.

The old man reached his arm forward, and an elegant black greatsword materialized into his hands. The sword, unlike his golden swords from before, seemed real. Like a sinister black steel sword had just come into existence. When I tried to stare at it, it felt as if my mind was being sucked out of me. It was a black hole that threatened to destroy my very conscience if I continued to stare.

I ripped my eyes away from it, and my first thought was that it was the antithesis of Hubris. If Hubris was a blade fit for a holy knight of a god of light, then this blade was fit for the death knight of a demon of darkness.

Rather out of pure fear or necessity, Mason Fields, the Inquisitor, and the Shadowclan rushed the dark Exarch. Rorken let out a hollow laugh as he lurched forward far faster than any of them and instantly met Mason Fields head-on.

With a single swing of his dark blade, Mason Fields had his weapon separated in half, along with his head. The rest of the group converged, but I watched in awe as a single man danced amongst dozens of opponents, effortlessly blocking and cutting them down.

His blade strokes were beautiful, his stance immaculate, and his defense impenetrable. He cut down one Dark Elf after the other. Chieftain Shadowstorm’s spear never even got close and was parried or blocked with ease.

The shadow magic sent his way and the holy hammers from the Inquisitor were nothing to him. He cut them all down, splitting the spell cores at the source with practiced ease. It was like a master disciplining his students. It was an inhuman show of force. They never stood a chance.

The fight continued, but I stared on, dumbfounded, along with everyone else. One man was once again committing a one-sided slaughter, but this time, not against riff-raff rebels but skilled warriors, some of whom had lived through a three-hundred-year war.

After Mason Fields fell alongside twenty Dark Elves and a handful of Shadow Dancers, their steps, already laced with fear, began to falter. Instead of fighting, a Dark Elf tried to run away into the shadows, but the void blade easily cut into him through his back, sending blood splattering across the floor.

Chefitian Shadowstorm engaged in combat once more, followed by a sea of shadowy tendrils, but Rorken remained firm. His blade cut an elegant line, slicing spells apart and slicing the Mythril spear in half like a hot knife through butter.

Rorken reached out with a gauntleted hand and grabbed Chieftain Shadowstorm by the face. The Dark Elf let out a grunt of pain as darkness enveloped him. But it wasn’t the darkness of his shadows but that of the void.

Parhen, who was stunned and locked in fear from an overwhelming sense of dread, had finally sprung into action alongside the Inquisitors to save the chieftain. Rorken tossed Chieftain Shadowstorm into Parhen. His blade blocked the Inquisitors and the two exchanged only a few blows before Rorken was overwhelmed, having one of his arms sliced off.

But something changed in Rorken as the fallen Exarch stepped back. One of his hands had just vanished and simply disappeared into nothingness. Not only that, it seemed like the man himself was slowly disintegrating.

He let out a deep sigh. His eyes were pitch black, and reading the emotion on his face was impossible, but it still gave off the feeling of a defeated man despite the show of force he just mustered.

“All this power, and I couldn’t even bring you back, Aru. I never amounted to anything,” he said quietly.

Rorken looked back at us and told us, “You, the one with the beard. You’re the Headmaster of this school, right? Do me a final favor. Tell my family that I’m sorry.”

I heard Headmaster Tarus swallow, “Sorry for what?” he managed to say, his voice shaky.

“For everything, I guess,” Rorken said as he raised his sword up.

With a hollow voice, he began to speak; the very words held the same power he emanated, that of the Voice, “One last time, show me chaos before the false god’s creation.”

I looked up at what should have been the night sky, but it was just an empty space as far as I could see. A sword, far bigger and more ominous than the claymore from early, towering above even that of a castle, loomed above us. And that was it.

Darkness enveloped our group like a shield, and by the time we came to our senses, we had returned back to the smoldering grounds of the stadium. There was nothing left of Kaladin’s grandfather. The Dark Elves were gone, and the Inquisitor was nowhere to be seen.

It was just the Headmaster, Lord Vasquez, my surviving agents, and myself.