One of them handed over a spare gray wizard robe, asking him to change out of the elf uniform that was no longer fitting and covered in dust.
"Thanks a lot." Duke took the robe and put it on, offering a brief thanks.
His gaze finally swept over this ambush site, reeking of blood and burning, over the remaining deep resentment in the eyes of elf captives or corpses. His heart remained calm; a mission was just a mission.
Moran's injuries were severe, with a deep wound on his left arm revealing bone, and his chest seemed damaged too, with each breath accompanied by bloody froth.
But those eyes belonging to a seasoned warrior fiercely fixed on Duke, filled with raging anger, deep resentment, and a kind of bone-chilling betrayal after being thoroughly deceived and fooled, mixed with a trace of...an incredibly complex disbelief.
