“A dragon…?”
“Why is a dragon in dwarven territory?”
“Tch, doesn’t matter. Carl, deal with this meddling lizard quickly—we still need to find the key.”
The man named Carl stepped forward.
In his grip was a long, blood-red staff, its top shaped like a severed claw, its fingers curled as if grasping something unseen.
A sinister aura pulsed from the weapon—one Rosvisser had never encountered before.
Not that it mattered.
