The serpent dies, its head severed.

A spray of crimson erupts as I slide my blade from the failed Grovemaster's throat.

There's no regret. There's no remorse.

Why should I feel such things? I'm not trained to.

Besides, trading one life of greed and hunger for power for the lives of countless innocent people is a perfectly fair trade. Who would possibly dispute that?

By the time the smoke has faded, I've already left.

The serpent's death throes spill onto the street. Isolde's Paladins aren't acting as a cohesive fighting force, but as an instrument of blind rage. Even I can see that much.

The entry point I used is still open, the arched window a path out into the open air.

I can see the armored figures shouting wildly, filing onto the streets and blaming someone who had no involvement with their leader's death.

At times, such a result was actually the desired one.

But this was not one of those times. They can still cause untold damage, still destroy the lives of the innocent people living here.

I can't allow that.

But at the same time, I can't face fifty armored paladins by myself. I only have a limited number of explosives, too. I couldn't carry them all with my disguise.

---Ah. That shine.

That's the blade of a halberd.

Maybe one of the Edreni men isn't completely useless, at least.

I'll take a route over the nearest buildings and reach him.