Page 122 of Warlord's Plaything

For a spectacle.

For the warlord’s final moment.

They don’t know it’s going to be their reckoning.

"Hira."

The whisper barely reaches me before I spin, blade half-drawn, breath tight.

The hooded figure doesn’t flinch, stepping out from the shadows.

The soldier.

"We’re ready."His voice is low, urgent.

I exhale, pushing past the storm in my chest.

"How many?"

"A handful."His lips curl in a grim smirk."But the right handful."

Good.

It’s not enough, not nearly fucking enough.

But I don’t have the luxury of waiting.

"The territory is expecting blood."I keep my voice firm."We give them something else."

His eyes flicker.

"And if we fail?"

"Then we go out the way Xyron would."

A sharp grin.

"Fucking swinging."

The plan is simple.

Brutal. Reckless. Unforgiving.

A perfectly orchestrated symphony of chaos.

While the city’s eyes are on the arena, my people move in the shadows.

The gates will be compromised, the guards strategically taken out one by one.

By the time they realize what’s happening, it’ll be too late.

And Xyron?—

He will be free.

I pull the hood of my cloak tighter, swallowing down the wildfire in my chest.

"We do this clean. Fast. No hesitation."

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