The sun had barely set when Vlad and his warriors trudged back to the mansion, their boots caked with dirt and blood, their faces grim but triumphant. The hunt had been victorious—rogues either dead or bound, the village secured with no losses on their side and only a few minor injuries. The warriors' voices rose in the courtyard, a raucous chorus of cheers and shouts praising Vlad. One clapped his shoulder, another raised a fist, their eyes glinting with respect as they chanted his name. Vlad stood tall, his jaw set, his hands brushing off the dirt from his torn shirt, his eyes scanning the group with a nod.
"Vlad led us true!" a warrior shouted, his voice hoarse, his fist pumping the air. The others roared in agreement, their boots stomping the cobblestones.
