(A.N: Please read the note on the first paragraph.)
Reidar didn't say another word for the rest of the trip. He just couldn't.[1]
His jaw was clenched so tight during the entire journey, that it ached. He kept replaying the ambush, the focused look in the attackers' eyes. They hadn't been aiming for Lena or Jorik, despite them being forced to attack them given they were in the battle. Every projectile, every spell, had been meant for him.
Rage was mounting.
He'd come to this town to help them fight monsters, to do something good during his own journey. Now he was mired in a human conflict he didn't understand, forced to kill nearly a hundred people.
The survival points he got felt like a sick joke, a bitter prize for all that killing. Every one meant a life he'd taken, another weight on his soul. He'd become a weapon turned against his own kind, and the taste of it was nothing but ash.
