The moment the door opened, the Warden inhaled sharply—then roared.

Vin heard a mighty swing of steel.

The blow was so forceful it killed the candles instantly, plunging the jail into darkness.

A single body hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Vin sensed a life end.

And then everything ignited.

Blades clashed at the entrance—violent silhouettes lit by red sparks as metal cracked, scraped, and bit into stone.

Another body dropped.

Vin pressed against the bars, breath shaking.

"Let me out!"

The Warden was eventually pushed back into view. Two remaining Ravenours continued their assault on the man, both wearing red-accented armor, which meant they were a part of the same faction as the General.

One already had an injured leg and limped; the other was fresh.

The Warden staggered back, bleeding from the chest.

He didn't retreat further. Instead, He charged, fighting like a man who refused to die quietly.

More blows were exchanged.

Then it went from bad to worse.

A straight strike pierced him through the stomach, and he groaned, hurt, but he didn't fall.

With a final surge, he drove his blade into one attacker, dropping them instantly.

The Warden wobbled, drained, but caught himself and aimed to deliver a killing blow to the last attacker.

His resolve to live carried his blade up to the other Ravenour's neck. This would put an end to the raid.

The Warden's blood loss caught up to him.

His strike missed any vital points, but managed to knock the sword from the remaining Ravenour's hand.

The Warden kicked the attacker's blade aside and went in again, hoping his body would push through.

The man in red swiftly drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed when the Warden drove in.

That small blade that ended the fight....

Vin's heart dropped.

He'd barely known the man, but watching him die like that—after fighting so hard—was wrong.

The surviving Ravenour touched their bleeding leg, groaned, then limped to Vin's cell.

No hesitation. No disgust.

Just purpose.

The Ravenour peered at him.

Vin scowled back, terrified, but not willing to die so pathetically.

That brute didn't engage with him, but turned and hobbled away.

A minute later, he returned, pulling two bodies behind him.

Vin saw the butchered individuals and shook his head. "Fuck..."

Both of the princess's guards were plopped down as the attacker staged the scene, planting weapons in their hands to make it look like there was some sort of resistance.

A setup.

Vin trembled when the Ravenour took the keys off the Warden's body and opened the cell.

He backed up until his spine was against the stone wall.

Defenseless, he raised his wrapped fist in fighting stance—not because he thought he could win—but because instinct pushed him to resist.

The adrenaline did something to his mind.

All of a sudden, he was thinking much faster, seemingly processing hundreds of thoughts per second. In that moment, he saw a chance of success and planned to put 100% into surviving.

The Ravenour stepped closer.

Vin charged at the limping Ravenour first.

When the man swung, Vin hurled himself downward and barbarously dug his fingers into the man's open thigh wound.

A howl ripped from the warrior—just enough to stagger him.

Vin ripped the heavy coat from his waist and flung it over the Ravenour's head.

They would be stalled for a second.

That's all he needed.

Vin bolted for the exit—

A wide-arching slash cut through the coat like paper.

Not long after, pain shot down Vin's arm, and when he looked, his limb had also been torn through from the elbow—clean, efficient.

His eyes flared in horror, and he stumbled back.

He barely registered the sword thrust before it slammed into him—a strike that pierced his gut and pinned him against the wall.

Vin felt the urge to retch as his face contorted in several shapes of agony. Still, he fought for his second life.

He grabbed the small dagger at the Ravenour's belt and drove it into the man's side.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The Ravenour recoiled away in pain, pulling his long blade free as well.

He became enraged, driving back in, his swings even heavier—sloppier—but still deadly.

Vin barely raised the dagger to defend before his opponent's hefty sword knocked it from his grip.

He dropped just as another strike aimed for his head, then began to crawl away.

He made it three paces before a sharp force punched through his back and dropped him flat.

The world wavered.

He cried out.

His consciousness began flashing in and out like the shutters of a camera.

The Ravenour—blood trickling from his leg and side—withdrew the blade to stab again.

Vin had crawled toward his journal earlier. He yanked the pen free, leaned up, and stabbed it into the warrior's wounded leg.

A roar shook the cell. Yet, the Ravenour, a barbaric creature that shouldn't even exist, pushed through the pain that'd cripple most humans.

He uttered a savage growl as he raised his sword to deliver a final blow.

Vin spat blood into his eyes as the sword came down.

The blade missed anything vital.

Vin stabbed him again, and they also dropped to their knees.

Now level, Vin drove the pen into his eye.

The man dropped the sword and roared, flailing, but alive.

Vin took the journal and swung the spine like a hammer into the pen, driving it in deeper.

One strike.

Two.

A final, shaking blow—

The Ravenour's body went limp after the last blow. Dead.

The body fell forward, so heavy that it pushed Vin down to the ground.

Vin didn't feel alive when it was over.