"Rui-Chai," Heriean whispered, his voice filled with equal parts relief and defiance.
The man—Rui-Chai, the leader of the Black Bulls—stopped a few paces from Heriean and the King. His gaze was sharp, his expression unreadable. "You've proven your point, King Threxian. But this ends now."
Threxian tilted his head, his smirk returning. "Ah, the elusive leader finally makes his appearance. I was beginning to think you were a myth."
Rui-Chai ignored the remark and turned to Heriean. "Rest now. You've done enough."
Heriean stumbled, his legs giving way as two of the remaining Black Bulls stepped in, their faces unreadable beneath sweat and exhaustion. They carried him to the chamber's edge, where medics—their movements brisk but detached—waited to stabilize him.
The medics weren't soldiers or allies but neutral figures contracted to ensure the wounded wouldn't die unnecessarily before their punishment was complete.
