Ethan didn't even look at the pile of fifty freshly decapitated corpses. He casually swept his plain iron sword through the air, clearing an invisible speck of dust from the steel before sliding it back into its leather scabbard with a crisp, echoing CLICK.
"You lot," Ethan said, his voice dropping into a flat, lazy baritone as he gestured with his chin toward the remaining, shivering mercenaries. "Pick up the hunting tools. Start cutting those logs and build enough cargo sledges to haul every single piece of material in this clearing. If any of you feel like testing your luck and escaping through the mist, feel free to try it."
"This is insane!" a heavily armored mercenary from the rear ranks suddenly screamed, his face contorted in a mix of terror and indignation. "You've slaughtered half our leadership! You think you can just enslave—"
SHING!
