Azel stood on the wall the next afternoon with his arms crossed as the cold wind brushed through his silver hair.
From up here, he could see the long, empty road leading toward the main gate from the slums.
Below him, the ground soldiers were already awake and moving around.
And at the center of the wall stood a stake, and on that stake rested a severed head… the werewolf's head.
The soldiers had celebrated all night after mounting it there, and even now, a few of them were still cheering over mugs of ale.
Captain Rhun was among them, sitting near a crate, drinking his tenth bottle like it was water.
Azel sighed, shaking his head.
"They're still celebrating that fake corpse…" he muttered to himself.
He leaned against the wall's cold stone and looked beyond the wall again.
'Where's Ravik?' He thought.
He was already done with his mission here… the werewolf had been handled, the garrison was completely pacified, and the town was safe for now.
