Percival snapped, "Who do you think you are, belittling the Malevolent Path Hall?"
Swish!
Percival's tirade ended mid-word, his head spun into the sky, a crimson geyser erupting from the stump of his neck.
The gathered cultivators froze mid-breath, their faces draining of color in unison, as though some unseen hand had wrenched the air itself from the plaza.
Not a soul had noticed Maxwell move. His arms stayed tucked inside his cloak, his boots rooted to the flagstones, yet Percival's head now tumbled across the marble, severed clean, crown still perched absurdly atop it.
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