Chapter 36 The Hunter's Pursuit

• The tavern stank of blood and fear. Broken tables and shattered mugs littered the floor, and groans from the unconscious fighters echoed through the dim room. The scarred leader, bruised and trembling, leaned against the wall, spitting blood into the dirt as he clutched his ribs. His men—what was left of them shifted uneasily, too battered to move and too ashamed to speak.
• The tavern’s heavy oak door creaked open, letting in a cold gust from the night outside. A group of armored men stepped in, boots thudding against the floorboards. Their armor bore the sigil of King Tharion—a black serpent coiled around a silver crown and the dim lanternlight gleamed off their polished pauldrons.
• Leading them was Maelrik. His presence was like a blade in the dark. sharp, cold, and unforgiving. His black hair was tied back, his pale face expressionless, but his golden eyes carried a fire that froze the air around him. He glanced around the wrecked tavern, his gaze sweeping over the bodies and overturned chairs with casual disdain.