The Nokko stepped closer to Krugger, his bare feet silent against the damp earth. He studied him for a long moment, dark eyes narrowing like a jaguar measuring prey, then spoke slowly.
"You carry yourself like an old warrior," he said at last. "That surprises me."
Mateo translated the words carefully.
Krugger met the Nokko's gaze and, for the first time, truly saw him. A long, pale scar crossed the man's chest—four deep grooves, unmistakably made by claws. They were old wounds, badly healed, yet worn with pride. The Nokko stood straight despite them, his shoulders heavy not with age, but with responsibility. Though dressed as an indigenous leader, his presence reminded Krugger of veteran officers from Prussia—men who had survived battles that should have killed them.
For the first time since arriving in these mountains, Krugger felt he was standing before someone who truly understood war.
