"Understood," the guard replied, pulling out an antidote vial and plunging the needle into his comrade's arm. The poisoned guard's veins bulged dark against his skin, his eyes bloodshot, and the flesh around the dart wound was already turning black, clear signs of just how potent the toxin was.
Fortunately, they had come prepared. Each carried doses of the all-purpose antidote crafted by the Royal Alchemist; without it, panic would have swept through the ranks.
For three agonizing minutes, the poisoned guard writhed while his comrades stood tense, weapons drawn, sweat beading on more than a few brows. Finally, faint signs of recovery began to show, and a collective breath eased through the group, though no one dared to lower their guard.
"Princess, the poison is subsiding!" the guard called out.
