The old shaman nodded with satisfaction.
Remembering Axel, Winters couldn't help but let out a long sigh. Just a month and a half had passed, yet the days at the military academy already seemed like a dream.
Two months prior, he would never have guessed that two months later he would be hiding on a small island owned by the enemy, leading a small group of enslaved soldiers and crippled warriors to fight to the death.
What was Axel doing now?
Winters had lost his temper, and even the thought of anger had dissipated, replaced only by a sense of fatigue.
He bowed to Mustas, and the old shaman straightened his back to accept it gracefully.
Winters turned and left, returning to his temporary dwelling.
With a kick off of his boots, he collapsed onto the bed and quickly fell into a deep sleep.
Time passed unknowingly, and not knowing where he came from, Winters found himself in a combat arena, carrying a shield and spear, while someone beside him was rubbing olive oil on his body.
