Martin hung from a crude wooden stake driven through the center of the ranger station's entrance. His body sagged forward; his arms were limp at his sides.
Blood had dried in dark streaks down the wood and pooled on the ground beneath him. His eyes stared at nothing; they just filmed over with the glaze of death.
Someone had stripped him of his armor. The wounds were some deep cuts across his chest and arms, the kind that came from a struggle.
But the wooden stake driven clean through his torso had delivered the final, fatal blow.
It jutted upward from the packed earth like some grim monument, a splintered and blood-soaked warning to anyone foolish enough to return to this place.
The brutality of it sent a clear message: this wasn't some desperate fight, but a cold-blooded execution meant to be witnessed. Reidar knew who the sender was and who the receiver was supposed to be. Him.
