"Not while I'm having fun."
The shaman still didn't respond.
I exhaled slowly, the adrenaline fading from my limbs, leaving behind a hollow calm. As I stood over his crumpled form, I began to question how far I had taken things.
Maybe too far.
Now that the thrill was gone, I realized something—I didn't want him dead. Not yet, anyway. There were questions. Things I'd seen. Things that had disturbed me.
So I nudged his limp body with my foot, rolling him onto his back.
His face was a bloody mess. Swollen. One eye was nearly shut, and his cheekbone had clearly fractured from one of the landings. Worse still, a jagged shard of bone jutted from his forearm. I groaned quietly, more from disgust than guilt.
Then, crouching, I checked the small leather pouch tied to his waist. My fingers brushed glass. Bottles.
I pulled them out one by one.
Six potions in total. I ran [Analysis] on each.
Three healing potions. Two mana recovery potions. One... poison.
I set the poison aside.
