The mercenary leader gritted his teeth, one hand pressed against his bleeding arm as he stared up at the boy who had just walked into the middle of their fight like he owned the place. His face was bruised, armor cracked, but he still had the stubbornness of a man who refused to bow to chance.
"Kid," he rasped. "Get back! This isn't a playground. Go hide before they—"
Luther tilted his head, an amused glint flickering in his eyes. "Before they what? Swing their sticks at me until I die of boredom?"
The leader blinked. "What?"
The sword gave a tired groan. "Oh, great. Another brave idiot who thinks he's saving the world. I'm surrounded by heroes."
Luther ignored it, brushing a few strands of silver hair away from his face. "Relax, old man. You've done enough bleeding for one day. Rest."
He snapped his fingers casually.
