A deafening horn blared through the camp.
The timer had hit zero.
Then came the explosions.
*Bang! *Bang! *Splat!
Chokers detonated in perfect sync, each blast marked by a flash of light and a spray of blood.
"N-No! No! N—"
Screams were cut short. Bodies collapsed where they stood. The scent of iron then filled the air.
Those who had failed to form teams lay still on the ground—unmoving, cold, and already dead—reminders of what hesitation cost in the Empire of Zerafhon.
Jinn's group stood firm amidst the chaos. Ten figures. Each one different. Their presence drew attention immediately.
From the nobles seated above, whispers spread like wildfire.
"Now that's a strange mix…"
"Isn't that one a Drakkar?"
"This team might actually be worth watching."
The murmurs rippled, growing even louder—until the voice of the announcer cut cleanly through the noise.
