Zephyrion turned toward the villagers instantly.
"We have to leav—"
Whoosh!
An intense bloodlust swept through the cavern, drenching Zephyrion in a biting cold. He shrugged it off easily, however, the villagers beside him shivered violently and collapsed to their knees.
"W-what is this…? It's so cold…"
"W-what's happening?!"
Zephyrion ignored the frightened whispers, his gaze narrowing toward the entrance of the cavern, where a man stepped in with calm, measured steps.
The man was tall and slender, carrying a dangerous air around him. Red hair, red eyes, red lips. A Sanguine, and not just anyone.
'A Reaver.'
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Zephyrion's eyes lowered to the man's arm, where he casually held the severed head of the instructor, crimson blood dripping steadily from it.
The instructors of Calderalth were at least Mark Five. For one to be killed so easily…
'At least Mark Six.'
As the man calmly surveyed the area, Zephyrion stepped in front of the villagers.
