Meanwhile…
The Count and Countess Vexmore sat frozen.
They looked like statues carved from ash. Colorless. Paralyzed.
Then the count exhaled slowly.
"This… this is a tragedy of the highest order."
His voice trembled as tears of grief and disbelief emerged in his eyes.
But at the same time, a new feeling entered his heart.
Resolve.
"But at least… at least Daron got the bastard."
He looked down at the arena.
Where his last living son faced the monster impaled on his spear.
The count would've thrown the towel in and surrendered the fight, but his sons were beyond saving now. As such, the only thing he could do for them is let their eldest brother claim victory, honoring their passing by doing so.
…
"Hah?" Daron exhaled in confusion. His grip tightened around the spear as he twisted, trying to rip it free from the bastard's chest and drive it back in for a killing blow.
But it didn't move.
