The celebration inside Frostvele continued to grow louder as the night deepened.
Large bonfires burned across the courtyard, and their orange flames danced against the stone walls of the fortress. The smell of roasted meat mixed with spilled beer and smoke filled the cold air.
Ethan had long since stepped down from the wall and joined the soldiers in the courtyard.
Unlike many nobles who preferred distance, he moved easily among the crowd. One moment he stood beside a group of young soldiers who were arguing loudly about whose spear had struck the first demon. The next moment he was laughing with a group of veterans who had survived three campaigns together.
Someone shoved another mug of beer into his hand.
"Lord Ethan! You owe us a drink after that speech!"
Ethan raised the mug without hesitation.
"Fine. But if you pass out before midnight, I'm not carrying you back to the barracks."
The soldiers burst into laughter.
Another man slapped his shoulder heavily.
