With most of the soldiers either dead or lying defeated around Fenrir, he let out a disappointed sigh and shook the blood off his blade.
"The tower's gone soft. What a letdown."
He muttered.
The few remaining guards stood around him, shields trembling in their hands. They didn't dare attack, not anymore.
But they didn't run either. They tried their best to keep their fallen comrades protected, eyes burning with duty even as their legs threatened to buckle.
It was brave. Stupid, but brave.
"You're not bad. But you're wasting your lives like this. You have potential, but no brains. That's why you're still stuck as grunts."
Fenrir said casually as he paced in front of them, sword resting on his shoulder.
The guards didn't respond, but they didn't move either.
They were buying time—Fenrir knew it. Probably hoping their leader would show up and somehow turn the tide. He could see it in their stances. Desperate, but not entirely hopeless.
