They all head back to the entrance, and Kirin hands them off to Lexon before turning and making for the guard room. Lyria is still busy, but well out of sight. She won’t be much longer, either.

Which means Nathan is the last thing they’re here to get.

Frankly, Kirin’s angry enough to enjoy this. He unblocks the door--it doesn’t look like anyone had tried to use it, so perhaps they were still not alerted?--and glances around carefully before slipping inside.

Immediately, he knows why the guards weren’t anywhere else. A heavy thud echoes around the chambers, followed by laughter and jeering. Kirin sees red.

He’s through the door into the room before he can pause to think better of it. The first guard dies before he can even finish turning Kirin’s way, his throat slit from behind. The others turn toward him, more or less sluggishly, and he can tell they’ve been drinking. There are five of them here, not counting the one he’s already killed, and he bares his teeth at them in challenge. The closest one lunges with a shout, and Kirin sidesteps and guts him in the same motion. It won’t kill him quickly, but it’ll put him out of the fight.

The other four are warier. He can see them scrambling for weapons, what little they have in the room with them. Most of their swords are still lying in the antechamber--before which Kirin stands like a bloody angel of death.

The closest two circle, wary of the knives but still confident in the way only the truly drunk can be. It makes them slower, yes, but also more resistant to pain, less likely to fear, and more unpredictable. Kirin hates fighting drunken idiots. Well, it’s not as if he has a choice.

The first one charges, arms spread wide for a tackle, and Kirin jumps, landing with driving force on the man’s back as he stumbles, not having encountered the expected resistance. It’s the work of a moment to crouch next to him and slit his throat as he falls.

The next one is upon him before he can rise, though, and Kirin stabs him twice in the legs before the beefy arms wrap around his throat. Before the man can do more than haul him to his feet, Kirin slams a knife into the forearm around his neck and then spins to bury his other blade deep in the man’s chest. He gives a choked cry as he falls.

Two more, but Kirin is winded now, and these two are much more intelligent. Besides, one of them does have a knife, and is closing in with single-minded determination. The other circles, no doubt hoping to flank him while his attention is focused on the larger threat.

As a knife fighter, Kirin is uniquely qualified to say that facing a knife fighter is utterly unfair. Even if you know what you’re doing, you’re still likely to get stabbed or slashed. Even Kirin, one of the best fighters he knows of, is covered in scars across his wrists, forearms, and hands--and most of those are from training.

In summary, this is going to suck.