The first to move was a gaunt assassin.
He slowed his steps and drew two daggers from behind his back, moving toward the house. He had taken only a few steps when he suddenly felt a chill in his heart. Almost instinctively, he rolled backward, ending up several meters away, his heart pounding wildly in the deathly still night.
The spot where he had been standing now had a barely audible crack.
The assassin's pupils shrank, and his face turned slightly pale.
He lay on the ground, not daring to move.
The person who made a move was a woman standing on a tree branch, her complexion pale, with slender, fair hands showing the traces of her bones, holding an even paler sword.
She stopped the assassin's sudden move. Her thin sword's tip quivered slightly, pointing towards another corner.
The piercing killing intent locked onto the dwarf lying in the corner, as small as a child.
The latter's body was rigidly tense.
But she, too, dared not move.