The sharp, metallic hiss of steel clearing its sheath rang out before a word was spoken. The Hunter, without hesitation, drew both weapons, the blades trembling faintly in his still-weakened grasp. Despite the stiffness in his ribs and the lingering tremors in his arm, his stance was steady, his eyes narrow and alert. A breath later, the Knight stepped forward with purposeful weight, planting himself firmly between the approaching figures and Ludwig, who stood silent, Oathcarver undrawn, but visibly ready.
"There are survivors," the Paladin said, his voice smooth and lightly amused, as though discovering a misplaced relic rather than stumbling upon living souls. His white-gold armor glimmered in patches where sunlight pierced the canopy. "I thought this place wouldn't have any."
"I assume you're members of the Holy Order," the Knight said, tone even, gaze locked with the man before him.
