Outside the dungeon's massive iron gates, shrouded in the cold midnight mist, stood Dredis Valford.
Clad head to toe in pitch-black assassin garb that seemed to drink the moonlight itself, he waited with the stillness of a shadow. Only the faint plume of his breath betrayed that he was alive at all.
"How long do I have to wait here in front of this damn—"
The sentence died in his throat.
A razor-cold sensation kissed the nape of his neck.
Dredis's pupils shrank to pinpricks.
'H-How is that even possible…?'
No sound. No footsteps. No fluctuation of mana. Nothing.
Yet the unmistakable edge of a blade, sharp enough to cut off his neck was pressed firmly against his skin.
'Impossible. There's no one behind me. If there was someone, I would've sensed it. I would've—'
"Why are you here?"
The voice came from the front.
Dredis's gaze snapped forward.
There, framed by the yawning mouth of the dungeon gate, stood four figures.
