“Enough chatter,” Jared said, his eyes flaring with cold contempt. “Move, unless you want to die for nothing!”

“Arrogant wretch!” the captain roared, rushing forward with the rest of his men at his heels. Kishor laughed, a deep, rolling boom that shook dust from the eaves. He met the charge head-on, vanishing and reappearing among the guards like a ghost.

His fists fell like meteors. Bone cracked. Armor buckled. Thuds rang out in brutal staccato. Screams rose, then died, as bodies hit the flagstones.

When the last man slumped lifeless, Kishor wiped blood from his knuckles and kicked the crimson-lacquered gate wide open.

“Pathetic,” muttered. Then, louder, “Mr. Chance, Mr. Flaxseed… After you…”

The trio entered shoulder to shoulder. Every disciple who tried to stop them found the gleaming edge of the Dragonslayer Sword instead, Jared’s blade carving a silver path through flesh and scale-bound vipers alike.

Poison tricks and serpent sorcery meant nothing against raw, overwhelming power. By the time they reached the grand hall, blood pooled in the torchlight. and not a single challenger still drew breath.