"I'll make this quick," Greaves said, the cleaver catching morning light. "The mandoline has taught me efficiency. You won't suffer long."
Aldric stood his ground, knife shaking in his hand. "I told you. You're not getting the Blade."
"Yes, I heard your conviction. It was admirable." Greaves took another step forward. "But conviction doesn't stop cleavers. Sentiment doesn't win against practical violence. The mandoline taught me that too."
He was five feet away now. Four. Three.
"Last chance," Greaves said, his tone almost kind. "Give me the Blade. Walk away. Live. Continue your research, write your reports, save your friend. All you have to do is step aside and let me take what I came for."
"No."
Greaves sighed. "Pity. You seemed intelligent. I would have processed you quickly, respectfully. Now—"
