Leo stepped away from the window, the cool night breeze lingering on his skin. He needed to think fast.
If the mansion was crawling with goblin guards, he was in severe disadvantage. He had no weapons, no knowledge of the place, and a leg that throbbed with every sudden movement.
He limped over to the wooden stool where his original clothes rested. The clothes still had the blood stains, and the robe was still torn, something done by him.
If he had a storage ring, he never would've worn these blood stained clothes. However, in this situation, they appeared to still be better than the loose patient clothes that he was wearing which was no different than wrapping a thin sheet over his body.
At least they didn't throw my things away, he thought, quickly discarding the loose nightshirt he had woken up in. He dressed in his own clothes, the familiar weight offering a small, psychological comfort.
