Kapitel 338: Take it

The faint crackle of the lantern and the heavy, ragged breathing of the wounded mercenaries were the only sounds filling the room. The air was heavy, thick with exhaustion and the coppery scent of blood. Zirkel sat slumped against the wall, his axe resting beside him, its edge dull with dried crimson. Around him, the surviving Mad Dogs quietly tended to their wounds—wrapping bloodied cloths around gashes, gritting their teeth through the pain, and sharing brief glances of mutual understanding. 

No words were spoken. There was nothing to say. 

Then— 

CREAK. 

The door groaned open, its hinges screeching loud enough to cut through the suffocating silence. Every head in the room snapped toward it, hands instinctively reaching for nearby weapons. The lantern's flickering light stretched shadows across the entrance, and for a breathless moment, no one moved. 

A figure stepped inside.