Fiendhunter

**"Prudence becomes you more than your predecessor,"** Vistandyn's baritone resonated as drawer hinges screamed. The parchment pass glowed with anti-spectral runes—Bai Lang tucked this skeletal key against his breastplate. 

**"Take Mourngrim,"** the king rasped, unsheathing ancestral steel from its velvet tomb. The blade's song vibrated in Bai Lang's marrow—a chorus of dead monarchs whispering through silver. 

Through leviathan-gut corridors they traversed, the royal gardens assaulting mutated senses with peony miasma. **"Princess Kyaeth's affliction coincided with her half-brother's birth,"** the steward confessed, **"though venomous tongues—"** 

Halberd shadows birthed the crown prince. **"Mutant!"** Adern's blade-kissed threat dissolved as Bai Lang's crossbow bolt carved a scarlet comma on royal flesh. 

Commerce district stench replaced palace decay. **"Your master's leash frays,"** Bai Lang observed to encircling steel. Mourngrim's first arc severed a mercenary's ulnar nerve; the second painted cobblestones carotid-crimson. 

**"Desist!"** Roper Hanke's arrival scattered bravado like startled pigeons. Bai Lang sheathed his blade to the melody of pooling blood—netherforce humming approval. **"Courtly theatrics bore me,"** he told the knight-baron, **"but royal gold? That sings sweeter than any troubadour."** 

The ravens were watching. Always watching.