"No," the young man said.
Kael glanced at him.
The climber's face had gone pale beneath the blood and dirt. His sword was raised, but the point trembled slightly as he looked at the massive thing standing in the road with its cleaver hanging at its side and dozens of Watchdogs arranged around it like a loyal pack. The blue light of Kael's torch did not reach far enough to fully brighten the monster, but the little it revealed was enough. The stitched belly. The dog collar. The bucket over its face. The cleaver, too large and too ugly to belong in sane hands.
"I think we should head back," the young man said. "It's not attacking."
Kael looked unimpressed. "Why? You scared?"
"What do you mean?" the young man snapped, his whisper nearly cracking into a shout. "That's a Butcher. They have dozens of dogs with them, and they really make dying slow. You need a full party for this."
"Is that so."
Kael looked at his gauntlet.
A second passed.
Then he smiled.
