Okay. Look. I know what you're thinking. Yes. That was low. Maybe even for me. Looting the dying. Sweet-talking a man while his liver's leaking into the dirt. Biting his ring and tossing it like a chewed bone. Yeah. Real classy.
But before you climb on your high moral goat, let me explain something. See those guys? The ones groaning in puddles of their own insides?
Those were some of the most ruthless, blood-hungry mercs on the continent. The bronze clad pigs of war. You think that whole cavalry charge was about glory and honor and defending the realm? Please. That was business. Raiding, pillaging, raping—that's what they did. It was their job description. What, you think they came with poetic backstories and tragic loves left behind? Most of them left behind unpaid brothel tabs and a half-dead mule.
So yeah. Karma came, swinging a halberd. And I came after, looking for trinkets.
And Ogden—oh, that smug little prick—he wasn't lying there for honor, either. That was business, too. Because here's the thing he forgot:
He swindled me. And the Dragon. Ran off with not just his share, but ours. Thought he was clever. Thought he could vanish into some mercenary company and we wouldn't notice.
Well. Tough tough luck, my paladin boy.
We noticed.And now he's under a dead horse.Which is honestly the most useful he's ever been.
Okay. Okay. Okay. Fine. Be like that. Look at me with those judgey little eyes like you've never taken advantage of a bad situation. Like you wouldn't grab a pouch of coin if no one was watching and the owner was too dead to argue.
Alright. I admit it.
Maybe—just maybe—for a minute there, I was actually afraid for that cocky bastard. Ogden.
Gods. Just saying his name makes my teeth itch. That smug smile. That perfect stubble. That chest like a temple statue sculpted just to make girls trip over their sandals.
And I thought he was dead.
I mean, proper dead. Red mist dead. Face-down in mud and guts and I'd never get to slap him again dead.
And no. Not because I'd miss him.
Not like that.
Well maybe. Maybe I'd miss him. Maybe a bit. Like, just the way he calls me "dear heart" when he's about to betray me. Or the way he makes everything sound like he's the tragic hero and I'm the dirty little footnote. Or the way he moans when he—
Ugh. No. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up.
Go screw yourself.
He deserved to be found under a dead horse. He deserved the map-demand, the charred twig interrogation, every single ounce of humiliation.
But also maybe don't die, you ridiculous, lying, sword-polishing bastard.