At the Slave Trade Guild's side, the three Scorpion Men were tearing through the undead beasts around them with ease and confidence.
Their claws and stingers ripped through their enemies with finesse. They walked through the chaos as if the battle around them meant nothing to them.
Each swing of their claws tore apart hard shells.
Each stab of their stingers pierced through bone, sand, and rotten flesh.
Their movements were savage, but they were not wild.
There was a brutal rhythm to the way they attacked, as if slaughtering enemies on the battlefield was something carved into their blood.
Walking behind them, the Young Lord did not participate in the battle. His expression did not change.
'Undead are nothing.' He clicked his tongue.
With the three Scorpion Men, he did not have to lift a finger. To him, this battle was already over, and it was only a matter of when.
