Alice's sword sliced cleanly through a demon's throat, the faint hiss of her blade vanishing beneath the roar of fire. She didn't falter. Not once. Even as black blood splattered against her armor, she pressed forward—silent, efficient, merciless.
"Three more on the left," I called, throwing a knife that found its mark between a demon's eyes. "Make that two."
"I'll handle the rest," she replied curtly, stepping past me. Her cloak snapped in the hot wind, her silver hair catching the reflection of burning tents.
For a brief moment, she looked like something unreal—an avenging spirit wearing the face of a noblewoman.
The demons, disoriented and blind in the smoke, tried to regroup near the central cage. That was our target. The scouts—half-conscious, bloodied—were shackled inside, surrounded by guards in black armor.
Alice lifted her hand. I stopped immediately.
She mouthed one word: Flank.
Understood.
