A small, perfectly polite, entirely patronising smile touched the corners of the monster's lips.
He raised his hand, resting two fingers against the brim of his black hat.
He tipped his hat to the Archduke.
It was a gesture of supreme, mocking elegance.
An acknowledgement of Kaelus's rage, and a complete, absolute dismissal of it as a threat.
"Until we meet again, Lord of the North," a voice echoed. It did not come from the man's lips.
The voice echoed directly inside the minds of Kaelus, Seraphina, and the knights.
It was a voice composed of a thousand whispering, rotting corpses, smooth and polite, yet carrying the stench of an open grave. "The little anomaly smells... exquisite."
Before Kaelus could swing Requiem, before the shards of black ice could launch themselves at the stranger's heart to tear him to shreds, the man took a step backwards.
He did not turn around.
He did not run.
He stepped backwards into the shadow of a nearby, massive oak tree.
