Every person in the assembly was hanging onto the mangled mage's words as he shouted what he had seen. The air was thick with the scent of iron, and that was when the horror truly set in—the sight of Ponto's head rolling across the dirt, stopping right in front of the front row of guests.
"We're under attack! It has to be the Noble Guild!" the mages screamed in a collective panic, leaping from their seats.
The meeting area descended into absolute chaos. Some guests wanted to scatter, running blindly toward the exits, while others backed away with magic circles glowing on their palms, their eyes darting frantically to find the unseen assailant.
They were unable to see a single thing. One mage lifted his hand to cast a defensive barrier, but before the mana could even coalesce, his arm was sliced clean off at the shoulder. The limb fell to the ground with a wet thud.
"ARGHHH!" The mage's scream was a high-pitched wail of agony that cut through the noise of the crowd.
