Lord Silverbrook squealed like a pig as he watched Ethan charging toward him at terrifying speed, the bloated nobleman's jowls trembling as the color drained from his face.
"Protect your lord, filthy peasants!" he bellowed, only deepening the contempt in Ethan's heart.
A third-stage warrior, begging for help from soldiers who looked like they hadn't eaten in days.
Pathetic.
In that moment, Lord Silverbrook watched his forces crumble completely.
Weapons dropped into the mud one by one, accompanied of pleas for mercy from those ragged, half-starved men.
"S-spare me!" he screamed as well, voice cracking as he raised his sword in desperate defense.
His entire body trembled and his feet sank deep into the wet earth as Ethan's blade crashed against his own.
He was still a third-stage warrior, after all.
"You don't deserve mercy."
Ethan drove his boot into Silverbrook's gut.
