In a large town located somewhere in the north of Yilstern, the once-grand hall of the Warrior's Guild lay in ruin. Splintered beams, shattered banners, and the flickering remains of torches casting jagged shadows across the wreckage. Bodies of fallen heroes lay sprawled across the wooden floor, their weapons broken, their spells undone. The scent of scorched parchment and singed fabric lingered in the air, mingling with the iron tang of blood. In the center of it all, atop a ruined banquet table, stood Sakrua, her robes tattered but untouched by defeat. Arcane energy crackled at her fingertips, dancing erratically in hues of gold and indigo, barely restrained chaos waiting for its next victim.

"I find little joy in this,"

Sakrua remarked, her voice echoing through the halls as she stepped down the length of the table,

"Though I will not hesitate to take your life, if you continue this fight."

With a slight spin, she stepped down from the table, shattered glass crunching beneath her steps.

"You've come here with such conviction in your hearts, neglecting to realize that I am far, far more righteous."

Her words were spoken with the utmost confidence, not wavering in the slightest. She truly believed in what she was saying. Stepping closer to one of the many collapsed bodies, she leaned over, her blonde hair framing her face like a golden outline, and her blue eyes staring a hole straight into the fallen individual's soul,

"Let's not drag this out."

Sakrua said with a gentle voice,

"Your headmaster is dead. You are already defeated. Stay down so you may live another day, and we will go our separate ways."