The scrying mirrors flickered as Sylvia Asher moved through the seventh boss chamber with the precision of a master surgeon.
Her movements were economical.
Perfect.
A single gesture of her hand redirected an incoming swipe from a creature with scales the size of shields. Another gesture, and three subordinate creatures ceased to exist, their forms dissolving into motes of arcane energy that were absorbed back into the dungeon's ley-lines.
A merchant lord from the eastern territories was leaning forward in his observation seat, his expensive wine forgotten in his hand.
"By the gods," he breathed, his voice carrying genuine awe. "Have you ever seen anything move that elegantly? She's making terror rank creatures look like practice dummies."
His companion, a wealthy trader whose family had made their fortune in arms dealing, nodded slowly.
