A final scream ripped through the temple air, the last guard falling to Nevia's blade. The mercenary dipped and wiped her shortsword on the monk's robes, sheathing it with a smirk.
It seemed the stories of the unassailable fortress of the Miten monks were greatly exaggerated. Truly, the toughest part was the trek through the remote mountains to reach it.
She looked to the other end of the the great hall, where an ostentatious altar enshrined a wicked-looking blade. She danced across the corpse-strewn floor, humming irreverently to herself.
It wasn't often that a plan went so well.