The dawn light filtered through the scant gaps in the trees’ canopy, illuminating the Evergreen slowly and gently. For some day-faring critters, this is when they would begin to awaken.

For Charles, he’d already been awake for an hour, though not without having tried to sleep longer.

‘Am I part feathering rooster, too?’ he thought dryly to himself, stalking around his nest for any signs that anything was knocked out of place in the night. The practice also gave him plenty of time to settle his thoughts, finalizing what a good night of rest had given his conflicted mind. After everything was said and done, he’d decided that at the very least he would honor his word with Alterra. It couldn't be said that he had made the deal with Alterra without being under some form of duress, but he didn’t fault Alterra for that. After all, much of the how of their arrangement was left to him, and things had gone sideways from the onset. Perhaps if Alterra had been more imposing and demanding, he’d have had more issues with it, but as it were, Alterra hadn’t threatened him at all.

His family on the other hand was now much more distant of a thought. Whatever reasons they had to leave, wherever they were now, Charles found he cared significantly less than he once did. They weren’t as important to him now, ironically; considering how much knowing anything meant to him back on Earth. He’d still pursue information about them, but it was no longer something he found worth stressing himself unduly over.

The real matter was still in the ‘How?’ of things. How did he want to go about his task? Obviously he needed to be able to answer that question, and so he needed a great deal more information. That meant human interaction and examining the culture of this place. While he didn’t know if that human group he’d seen previously would really be able to provide any kind of worthwhile information, he did know that he wouldn’t necessarily need to stay with that group long term.

Which meant he would need to talk to his siblings and try to explain that he needed to leave. It hurt his heart in ways that he’d never felt before, but he couldn’t delay any longer. Rather, he knew he shouldn’t delay more, because every single day added on would only make the separation harder, making it easier to stay. There was a certain kind of momentum in life, he realized, and getting back up to speed only got harder the slower you let yourself go.

So, he’d have to start pushing again, but that would be after tomorrow. Today, his original goal had been to explore his territory once more, but that had changed after his recent decision. Simply patrolling his territory wouldn’t matter anymore soon, so he needed to make the most of his time. After taking a quick snack at the river, Charles turned his attention to the direction of the mountains. That had been the direction the poachers had gone, and while Charles had no intent of clashing with them, he needed to know more about them. They were however, certainly, not the type that he needed to be following into society.

In the first place, he needed to have a group with freedom of motion, ones that wouldn’t accrue undue suspicion for moving through the various lands of the world. Adventurer’s, if popular fiction had any say in the matter, would fit the mold quite well. Bandits and poachers though? Not so much.

Beyond that, they would obviously not pass up the opportunity to sell him off, which, as much as it chafed at him, wouldn’t necessarily be the worst option either. The real problem being that he wouldn’t know who he was being purchased by, nor have any say in it, and wouldn’t know what he would be used for. It’d be one thing if perhaps he was partnered with someone in high aristocracy as a respected companion… But, considering they were poachers in the first place, he highly doubted that would be the hand of cards he was dealt. Pit fighting, some collectors menagerie, or perhaps some over glorified, exotic pet would be most likely. None of those were appealing - though his fighting instincts did seem to revel in the idea of a pit fight.

In fact, he’d be better off straight up wandering into town at that rate. Charles chuckled at that thought, wondering how people would respond to a potentially dangerous predator simply strolling into town nonchalantly, utterly unafraid - on the surface at least - of the people around it. Would they assume he was some kind of tame beast?

Charles frowned as the consideration actually seemed to have some merit, but ultimately sighed. ‘Maybe as a last resort, but it’s not like someone’s going to have serious conversations with a bird… Right? Then again, for all I know there’s people who are actually able to talk to animals, magic or some pecking thing like that.’

He shook his head as he dodged underneath low hanging branches and bounded over particularly troublesome thickets of undergrowth. Unlike a few days ago, Charles made incredibly good time, a smooth and fairly quiet passing even in spite of the speed he moved at. Greenery whipped past his vision as he cut a dark silhouette in the still-brightening forest. Idly, Charles realized that there was no human on Earth that could hope to outrun him, though that had been a fact for some time now. More than that, he didn’t think there were many animals on Earth that could outrun him at all. Charles temporarily shunted essence away from the portion of the patterns in his legs responsible for silence, instead pouring the maximum capacity of the pattern towards speed and power.

That lasted all of four seconds before Charles’ beak tore through a low hanging branch, nearly sending him staggering to the floor before he managed to catch himself.

‘I’m soooo glad I have a strong beak,’ He thought, heart pounding in excitement and shock. The brief bout of speed he’d put on before he stopped was intense, ‘I wish I had some tools to measure this stuff. That felt absurdly fast.’

Charles steadied himself by planting his feet and pumping essence into his legs once more. Another stream focused into his eyes, letting him concentrate on acuity. That seemed to have been the problem, his eyes couldn’t quite properly keep up with the speed, unable to register the environment. Funnily enough, using the combo like this was actually just a bit more consumptive than when the stealth was on, testament to how potent his essence patterns were.

‘It’s useful, but damn it’s a drain.’ Charles clucked in dismay before he doubled down on his focus.

Like a bolt of blue fired from a crossbow, Charles' body blurred through the greenery. His eyes could keep up this time, and the speed he moved with took him on a veritable warpath through the undergrowth. Every stomp thudded through the ground, his body slicing through any smaller greenery in the way. He wasn’t sure exactly how fast he was going, but immediately he knew that maneuverability had been thrown out the window. Correcting his course had to be done the moment he saw something, because even as he tried to turn, his momentum resisted. He worked around that by clenching his talons hard into the dirt, but found himself alarmed when he instead slid forward, furrows left in the earth from the attempt to change his route.

A part of his mind that he’d trained informed him of the egregious evidence of his passing he was leaving behind, but Charles didn’t care in this case. He was far from his nest, and he needed to practice this. Potentially, this could be his biggest way to open or close a fight, bolting in with speed or out, leaving an opponent in the dust. Charles felt a thrill in his chest every time he dodged a tree trunk or branch with a hair's breadth of distance. The wind pushing through his feathers felt exhilarating, and the sheer pulse and movement of essence around him as he moved made him feel like he was riding a wave.

‘Man, no wonder why some people are such speed freaks, this is amazing!’ Charles cawed aloud joyfully, feet carrying him forward through the green until, finally, he began to slow down.

Honestly, he wanted to keep going, but he was breathing hard, so hard that he actually had to stop, legs apart, heaving with his lungs. His feathers fluffed out wide as he felt heat, and then actual wisps of steam rose from him. Charles started at that before he noted that the amount of heat in his body was incredibly high.

Weakness pulsed through him as his essence began to return to normal, circulating throughout his body. It was only then that Charles realized that he hadn’t been able to draw upon external essence nearly fast enough to sustain himself. In lieu of that, the rest of his body had been called upon to fuel the essence.

‘And, peck, did it burn it fast…’ Charles marveled at the sensation of the essence slowly saturating his body, not quite able to trace every movement, but close enough that he was able to figure a few more things out. It’d been a while since he’d burned that much all at once, and he certainly hadn’t had his newly advanced eyes for it.

Like flipping a switch, his eyes gave him a better picture of what was happening. While it was difficult to use on himself, he could indeed ‘see’ the essence in his body, trailing through in broad streams before branching off through seemingly intangible channels. His essence patterns greedily drank up the energy, seemingly bottomless, but the rest of his tissues didn’t take nearly as much at any one time. Charles sat down, surrounded in loamy soil and undergrowth, and studied the process patiently.

After a few minutes of this, he realized that his body, outside of his concentrated essence patterns, absorbed very little essence at once. The patterns, on the other hand, drank down torrential amounts and held it tight. That said, the amount he was absorbing from the environment still wasn’t as high as what he would get from consuming something with concentrated essence, but he began to see some of the underpinning logic of what his instincts had been telling him. For one reason or another, his body had to be using the environmental essence to operate, which explained, in part, where he was getting the energy for such sense-defying feats and magic-like abilities.

That said, he could feel that the ambient essence just wasn’t quite cutting it. It wasn’t dense enough, like the difference between water vapor and liquid. If that was the case, it was no wonder why his body was beginning to tell him it was time to move on. Eventually, there just wouldn’t be enough essence to sustain him healthily.

‘Do humans have this problem, too?’ Charles contemplated, letting his reserves tick up slowly. If they did, then perhaps he wouldn’t inherently have to worry about anyone with ridiculously powerful essence abilities in the nearby town. Unless they had some way to collect essence, which he wouldn’t put past people, it wouldn’t be feasible for someone powerful to be there.

If it worked in the same way or people as it did with him, anyways. He was guessing at that, but essence patterns might be universal. That much would explain what he’d felt from the Poacher with the attack that transformed his physical strike into something that extended his range through the air.

After resting enough, he decided to shelve the experiments for later. It was enough to know that his essence patterns were acting something like heat-sinks for ambient essence and enabling him to utilize it more effectively. As much as it hurt, he knew he’d have to try to forge more of them in his body sooner or later. For now, he still had a task to accomplish.

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“Fall the fuck down!” One of August’s men shouted, hauling tight on a chain attached to a hooked spear, currently attached to one very large, very angry Grey Sloth Bear. The beast in question towered over the men surrounding it, currently on its hind legs while uttering a long, loud bellow. The three meter tall, incredibly heavy bear’s call thundered through the Gauntlet’s ears, six of whom were hauling on chains that had previously been occupied by the Oath-Sworn.

Eight of which were lying around, in varying states of mauled, clawed, or maimed. The remaining six held onto their chains, white as sheets and silently mouthing prayers to their chosen gods. Save for one, who grimly held on, giving more distance when the bear struggled in his direction, and then pulling taught when it wasn’t. Out of the lot of the Oath-Sworn, he was the only one who had studied tamer guidebooks with fervor. The problem being that this was not at all what they’d had in mind.

‘You’re all halfwits and I hope the Dark One gnaws on your bones for all eternity.’ Dane sneered mentally as he glared at the black armored men hauling on the chains. This entire journey had been a nightmare. While the Gauntlet hadn’t abused the Oath-Sworn unnecessarily, they didn’t hesitate to use them for capturing beasts. This one, however, was so far beyond the pale that Dane had strained as hard as he could against the corrupted oath to try to tell them how foolish this was. Grey Sloth Bear’s were unique to this region, specifically this mountain, and they were incredibly powerful. They were Essence Tier Two, but anyone who’d ever actually fought one would tell you that numbers on a paper didn’t mean shit.

They were easily able to tangle with Essence Tier Three’s on the low end of the scale, which meant the entire uninitiated group of Oath-Sworn were far, far out of their depth. Even the Gauntlet wouldn’t be able to deal with this, in spite of how confident they were.

A confidence which was rapidly being replaced by fear.

“What’s with this thing? August?” One of the black armored men, the one with the mustache that Dane wanted to rip off of his face, shouted in a growing panic.

“No clue, but it’s tough as hell,” August spoke, lips in a thin line as he watched the goings on with disdain. “This cost us way too much…”

He’d said the second part quietly, but Dane had somehow managed to hear it even through the din of bear struggle and dying men. He grit his teeth, ‘Cost too much? If Samut doesn’t put his vengeful fist up your arse, then I’m the fucking king of Arnost!’

Just then, August pointed to one of the Oath-Bound, “You have permission to speak, what is this?”

The man he’d pointed too looked like a massive weight had been lifted off of his shoulders as his voice returned to him. A moment later he used it to scream and wail before the Gray Sloth Bear slapped him, many of his bones breaking audibly before no noise came from the prone body any longer.

“Shit. Right then, that one! Same thing,” he pointed to Dane this time, who experienced the sensation of a massive weight lifting off of his shoulders.

“Piss off you shitter! It’s a fucking Grey Sloth Bear, a Tier Two with a Tier Three attitude, asshole!” Dane spat, before having to dodge under an unfocused swipe from the bear. A gust of trailing wind followed after it, and the sheer force of that casual strike set Dane’s jaw clenching in not-so-casual terror.

August blinked at that, but didn’t seem to take offense, instead staring at the beast while he contemplated things. A moment later, though, the bear shifted its weight, the many hooked spears with chains attached shaking tremulously as it did so. There were now fewer people holding it down than earlier, but the Gauntlets had only recently stepped in. They were the real problem.

Something the bear seemed to realize, as it suddenly put on a burst of speed on a swing, much faster than any of the strikes it’d sent out before.

The black armored man didn’t even get to scream before he was pulped against the floor.

“Shit!” August shouted even as he stepped forward, somehow crossing the distance to the next man the bear was targeting nearly instantly. If the bear was surprised, it didn’t show it at all. Instead, the swing continued, and August let out a short shout as he swiped out with his spear, a surge of gray energy bursting out through his spear tip.

It crashed against the bear's palm, drawing blood and stopping the strike dead. The sloth bear roared, more in rage than in pain, and drew back another strike.

“Seems you haven’t learned,” August growled, dumping more of his precious essence into his arms, filling the essence pattern for his spear stab into it.

The bear had a glint of murder in its eyes, and Dane felt that, in spite of the fact that August was obviously a Tier Three, the bear was in no way lesser to him.

Its swipe struck out once more, as fast as before, but this time, Dane felt the movement of essence in the air even without being the target. He watched as August’s expression distorted as the strike swept out. A wave of gray force pushed out from its claws, not sharp, but instead like a rolling avalanche, the same essence subtype as August’s strike had been.

August stabbed forward, his own strike small in the face of the wave, but it punctured through, breaking up the wave in the area immediately in front of him. The strike went further, piercing deeply within the bear's shoulder followed by an earth-shaking rumble of pain from its target.

The wave, however, was not only targeting August. Dane watched with horror as two of the black armored men who had pulled the chains to be nearer to August for protection paled with fright. They both pushed essence through their bodies, into their patterns, a pair of attacks that came too late with the realization that August couldn’t protect them.

Gray battered them down onto the ground and crushed them like boney grapes, the sound of screeching metal all that remained as the pair was scraped against the stoney ground. Dane realized also that another of the Oath-Sworn was too close. Though whipped only by an edge of the blast they had been sent careening from the chain they’d held - straight down the mountain side. Try as he might, Dane couldn’t ignore the sound of his fellow’s skull cracking open against a stone outcropping far below.

“Fall back! Everyone let go of the chains and get to the cart!” August roared, essence thrumming through his body as the remaining four Oath-Sworn instantly let go of the chains. Dane carefully made certain not to make any noise as he moved, but he realized that he could still speak.

‘Too bad I can’t leave the cart now…’ He swore internally, knowing that he’d have to keep biding his time, waiting for someone to screw up on an order now. With the ability to talk, so long as he could get back to town, he could get help.

‘If we last long enough.’ Dane sighed mentally as he looked at the three men who clambered quickly into the cart itself, each one shivering, just as he was, in the wake of what had just happened. Further away, he could hear the clash of the bear against August, but aside from the last peek before he hopped into the cart, he couldn’t see the rest of the fight. He shook his head, knowing that the end of all this was nearer now, whatever would happen. Dane shuffled to the back, squeezing up near the cage with the Greenhound and Ironback Badgers.

The others stayed away from them, but Dane had gradually been working on forming an essence link with them. Nothing so in depth as a tamer’s connection, but enough for them to know that he was no threat to them. Enough that they knew he was as much a prisoner as they were. They weren’t happy, but they were at least marginally willing to trust him.

Though, to be fair, the badgers were just generally pissed at everything, such was the case with their species. There was a reason why few tamers tried to make companions of them. Those that did, tended to be stalwart and utterly loyal, but they were stubborn as hell. Dane continued to distract himself as the fight outside only continued to increase in intensity. He guessed the bear wouldn’t be able to kill the leader, but the same went the other way. They’d bitten off far more than they could chew with this one.

Just then, he heard a new sound, a deep throated roar, but different in pitch and tone than the bear. Smaller, but no less fierce.

‘A cat? Probably a Blue-Bellied Sabretooth, sounds like a mature one an-’ then he paused as he heard a much smaller one beside it, barely anything so impressive as to be called a roar. More like a mewling kitten.

‘A cub?...’ Dane felt his gut fall at the thought. He grit his teeth then, pushing forward to the edge of the cart. He fumbled for a sharp rock that he’d stuffed under his shirt, pulling it out and pressing hard against the fabric side of the cart. Dane waited for the piercing pain to come, but was surprised when nothing happened. ‘So, the corrupted oath isn’t as powerful as the regular one…’

The regular one would incorporate even the spirit of the commands given, though it wouldn’t penalize someone with agony if they went against it. It was a guideline, something that would gently coax them to do what they agreed to and reinforce it. This bastardization though… seemed to be flawed, perhaps even weakening over time.

He couldn’t risk outright defying it, though. Dane had the feeling that pushing it would just result in it killing him outright, at least for now. Perhaps later it would weaken enough.

Dane peered through the cut in the cloth he’d made, seeing the fight that had turned into an outright brawl. It astounded him, but the bear was being aided by the sabretooth, and while the leader and his second were dealing with the bear, the rest of his men were trying to contain the sabrecat. The bear wound up its paw, slapping across the ground while trying to catch his enemies unaware. It didn’t succeed - August and Oscar both united defensive measures to completely disrupt the strike in front of them. What it didn’t do was keep it from spilling out across the ground, throwing debris and corpses outwards like they’d been punted.

One of the corpses of the Gauntlet’s men fell right in front of the cart. Dane’s eyes sharpened at the sight, not for the body itself, but for what it carried.

‘This one is going to hurt.’

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The fight continued on, a harried rush in which August and his second did everything in their power to try to bring down or chase off the bear. ‘It was working until the damned sabretooth showed up. God’s damned rug.’

He couldn’t spare the time to see how his men were doing, though, only focused on not letting the bear get a strike through on him, or on his men. The problem was that the bear kept his back facing either the cart or his men, forcing him on the defensive. August was rapidly realizing that this beast was far more intelligent than he’d given it credit for. If he didn’t guard most of the strike, the spillover would hit the cart, damaging it or worse. Needless to say, his own men were even closer than the cart was, so if he had to choose, of course he was putting the cart behind him.

His men weren’t worth the debacle this nonsense had become.

On the other side of the fight, the sabretooth darted in and out, swiping rapidly with claws and a yowling that set the Tier One men’s hearts racing in fear. The sabretooth was clearly a low Tier Two, but it was enough that they didn’t dare step out of pace with it. The bear had already destroyed the confidence they had in coming here - the Empire’s wildlands weren’t nearly so untamed. It was almost laughable that the Arnost Kingdom was called the “Kingdom of Tamers” – What part of this godforsaken wildland was tamed!?

Still, one of them noticed something to the side, a cub who had been making incessant, annoying noises at the three of them for a while now. The man turned, briefly tilting his spear towards the cub.

Instantly the grown cat intervened, putting him on the backfoot. The man grinned, “It’s guarding the cub! Looming hostage!”

The other two recognized the name of the tactic, ironically no different from what the Gray Sloth-Bear was subjecting them to at that moment. Immediately the three split up from one another, circling wide. Under normal circumstances, they knew the sabretooth would just capitalize on their distance from one another to take one of them out immediately, potential damage be damned.

But, before she could move, the man on the opposite side of the sabretooth stepped forward threateningly to the cub, now trying to fiercely project its voice intimidatingly. The sabretooth spun around, snarling even more terrifyingly at the man than before.

She didn’t have time to deal with the spear that lanced into her back leg because of it.

The big cat screeched in pain, turning to lash out at the spearman, but he’d already retreated. Instantly, two more struck her, one empowered with an essence strike, digging deep into her side. The other struck just under the neck, luckily catching on her ribs without going further. Agony laced through her as she tried to spin around, when the first man stabbed again.

This strike lanced deep, cracking her ribs as she faltered to the ground, overwhelmed by the pain. The cub stopped, a clear terror falling upon its eyes as it helplessly crouched, as though it could fold itself inwards for safety.

In spite of the insistent call of the adult, it didn’t move, even when one of the men darted over and pulled it up by the scruff of its neck. Only when he was airborne did he begin to panic, leaving the sabretooth on the ground snarling, trying to force its way up.

“Looks like we still get a prize, after all!” The man shouted with laughter.

Suddenly the earth trembled as the sloth-bear slammed through August and Oscar. It swiped outwards, a chaotic strike that pushed a torrential amount of energy out, but unformed as it was, the three men were only blown back, scrambling over the ground. The man with the cub in his arms sheltered it, but also held tight so it couldn’t escape. This was, after all, exactly the kind of critter they needed.

Not that a single one of them thought it was worth it, at this point.

“Get back!” August shouted as he rushed after the sloth bear. He thought for sure that it was going to kill his men. It moved with all of the weight and magnitude of a hill, and August was already mentally consigning the men to their fates.

When it got close, though, its charge suddenly slowed and with a masterful show of control, delicately pulled the adult sabretooth into its arms with an almost fearful mien. August couldn’t see the way it looked at the man who held the cub, only that he’d frozen and all the blood drained out of his face.

When the sloth-bear turned back to look at August, he completely understood why.

Disgust dripped from its countenance, tempered by something colder and deeper than rage. Hatred was something that August had seen before, though contrary to what one might expect of a mercenary, not often. Yet, the kind of pure hate that was evident on the sloth-bear’s face was one of a kind.

He knew then that not only did he fail to kill this thing, but he might well have just been responsible for creating a man-killer capable of outfighting a Tier Three in an area ostensibly barely Tier Two.

August resolved himself to the life-and-death battle that would be coming in moments. Only to notice the way it turned its gaze downwards to the injured form in its arms. Pity, remorse, guilt, and no small amount of pain lurked behind eyes too smart to belong to a mere beast. It wasn’t intelligent in the same way as he was, but he could tell an aberrant when he saw one.

Just like that, the sloth-bear turned and without aplomb fled at speed, even with the defiant, desperate cries of the sabretooth in its arms. Weaker, terrified mewls came back from the sabretooth cub, no less desperate than the ones its elder released. In spite of the decades of experience he had, August felt his heart splintering at the sound.

As he watched the sloth-bear leave, he knew that it wasn’t merely a man-killer made today, but something far worse. He’d never set foot in this mountain range again for the rest of his life, whether for the beast, or for fear of some tamer realizing what happened today.

“This job isn’t fucking worth it.” August sneered, and as he saw the looks from his men, knew that everyone shared his opinion. “We’re burning this fucking nobleman – after we get the fuck out of the kingdom.”

They all agreed, finding the situation just a little too convenient. They find this many rare types of beasts, some very powerful, out here right where their employer told them to go. How could they not find this suspicious.

August thumbed the ring on his pinky finger, the same one each of his men wore. Their employer had them contracted to secrecy with a life-and-death oath. Little did he know, they had a way around it.

He turned his gaze to the mangled remains of two of his men and the third who’d been blasted all the way back to the cart. Oath-Sworn bodies lay scattered, and not for the first time he felt guilt over their deaths. His men were indeed worth more to him, but that didn’t mean he liked seeing these people get killed. They were probably all good people, smart, driven, but none of that mattered now.

“Get what’s left of these in a pile and use some alchemist’s fire,” August ordered, carefully putting away the fatigue and disillusionment in a box. He was still the Gauntlet’s vice-leader, and he had a job to do.

The men nodded and went to work, except the one with the cat in his hands. August took it from him, trying his best to ignore the continued cries it let out.

“Take this cat and put it into the small kennel there, lock it up tight.” He instructed the nearest of the Oath-Sworn, not looking into their eyes. He’d made that mistake yesterday and had seen more than enough of their fear. He could only imagine the level of despair they had now.

August leaned down, looking at the fallen body of his comrade with a sigh. He heft him up, “Put him in the corner with the other bodies, make sure he’s within the sigils. You are not allowed to take anything from the body or touch it after it’s been put into confinement.”

The wording was more or less careful, but honestly August was just tired. He watched two of the other Oath-Sworn carry him over, putting him down less than respectfully on the other bodies there. August made no comment; they couldn’t be expected to care about the men that were spending their lives like currency. Still, he had to watch, make sure they took nothing from his person. The last of the Oath-Sworn hadn’t moved at all, hadn’t even made a motion to turn to him. His braided hair fell over his face and cast it in shadow. August managed to not sigh remorsefully at the sight, knowing the man was probably broken. Even if they all did somehow manage to survive this… That man wasn’t going to recover, not anything resembling ‘normal’ at least.

“Stay in the cart until we say otherwise.” The order fell upon the silent bunch as he turned on his heels and moved away, helping the rest of his crew with their task of the pyre. He’d have liked to add the other two to the preserved area, but… they were mangled to an extreme. That was no state to be carrying bodies back in, as much as it pained him.

Even beyond that, he’d have to figure out who it was that had the wake-salts on their person. Hopefully it wasn’t one of the poor saps that’d been knocked down the mountain. Their mules weren’t going to wake themselves after the hearty amount of drugs they’d given them to not panic in the face of the violence that was to come. As enchanted as their cart was to make things easy on the animals, he wasn’t looking forward to replacing them as the one who’d have to pull the damned thing.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the smiling Oath-Sworn, nor did he notice the bloody nose before he disappeared fully from August’s attention in the back of the cart. Dane had paid a price in pain, but he’d gotten what he needed from the corpse.

After all, he took nothing from the body after the order. But nothing had been said about it before.