Now it made sense—the vendor must've contacted the Medallen "young master" back then, the same one who had been on his way to pick up Mavis in Luen. The pieces fit too neatly, it's all connected and Sylene's anger boiled up. He reached into his travel pouch, pulled out that ridiculous cloak, and began marching toward the vendor, fully intending to shove the overpriced thing down his throat.
But before he could reach him, a loud bang shattered the room. The tavern door burst open, and an elite squad of humans, hybrids, and vampire hybrids stormed in—armed, uniformed, and led by a broad-shouldered old general. Military.
Sylene bet that in his younger years, he'd seen one of those power-hungry sergeants who loved to bully his cadets in vampire territory when Sylene was trained with Q96—that old guy's face showed it all. The insignia on his coat caught the dim light: General Milton. The troublesome guy Zirron mentioned to be careful of, came himself.
