Sir Barton's hand moved sharply through the air—a single, confident gesture—and in response, he shouted, "Cleanse this place! Wipe out the heretics!"
The trees trembled as if from the sheer force of his declaration, and Sir Barton stood tall, assured in the might of his forces.
He had brought elite followers, men who had crushed resistance wherever they went. There was no chance—no chance—that a minor noble's village could stand against them.
But then nothing happened.
There was no clash of weapons. No sound of spells echoing through the air. Not even a shout of war. Just… silence.
Barton's confidence began to waver.
That silence was pierced not by chaos, but by the sound of Kyle's sigh—deep, tired, and unimpressed.
"You're wasting your breath."
He muttered, stepping forward.
Sir Barton barely had time to blink before Kyle closed the distance between them.
