The insurgents were about to be surrounded and didn’t even know it. The dark-clad squad prepared their strange weapons. They were difficult to work with and nobody understood them – it had to be some kind of strange magic – but the effectiveness was undeniable. There had never been any survivors, meaning that the insurgents didn’t even know about how they were losing so many units. Mael smiled and looked at his partner. An outline of a skull was painted on his mask, as was on all of them, marking them as the secret assassins of the Great Emperor. Mael’s partner waved and began preparing his weapon. The group was closing in, carrying their bows, spears and swords. They had barely any armour, though according to what Mael had seen, no armour has ever made any difference. I just hope our weapons are not too effective again. Pari and Sebire still can’t walk. I hope they don’t hold a grudge against me. Maybe it’s better, if they never heal. He stuck the end of the weapon against his shoulder and peered into the looking glass attached to the length of the weapon. Loud cracks like thunder boomed across the forest, scaring away birds from the branches. After that the hard part came.

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“Ugh, I hate cleaning up,” Mael complained. Somebody grumbled back, dragging a stripped corpse by the legs.