The next set of scrolls detailed the fateful night of betrayal. It was a grand summit—a feast to celebrate impending accords and lasting peace. HellSin champions, renowned for their honor and might, arrived to the Golden Serpent Sect's lavish halls bearing gifts and open hearts. Celebratory music filled the air, and torches cast warm light over ornate tapestries and polished floors.
According to these records, the Serpents had arranged a special vintage of wine, said to be rare and exquisite. HellSin warriors, trusting their long-standing ally, drank deeply, unaware of the invisible doom sliding down their throats. Within minutes, the poison took hold, limbs growing heavy, vision blurring. A hushed confusion rippled through the banquet hall.
Seizing the moment, Golden Serpent elders shrieked accusations: HellSin was poisoning itself to frame others, they cried, feigning horror and indignation. Allied sects, stunned and frightened, grasped for answers. Voices rose, blades flashed. In the chaos, Serpent assassins emerged from hidden alcoves, plunging daggers into HellSin backs. Allies panicked, believing the lies. Broken goblets and overturned tables cluttered a scene of sudden carnage.
Lyrus clenched his jaw as he read. The Serpents had orchestrated everything, turning trust into a weapon that gutted HellSin's honor in one savage night.