The spy collaborating with Fire Claw, the victim of the Marshall Family's atrocities, the captain of the Fenrir squad.
Is dead...
There was no miracle, no twists and turns...
He simply died in an expected and reasonable manner, his body still slowly bleeding out as it lay limp at his feet, his expression filled with calm and indifference, tinged with a hint of attachment. Who knows if that was his reluctance to part with life, or...
"It wasn't hard to kill that elf, but this waste of a life kicked the bucket first, heh~" A sharp voice laughed aloft, the blood-soaked Ban shifts in mid-air and gently descends without a sound. He smirked at Motan, "Don't get me wrong, this isn't my blood. I just overdid it a bit earlier~"
Motan didn't answer him, squatting down to gently close Ned's still angry eyes, then bowed his head in silent prayer, referencing no particular god, merely hoping that this 'little person' could find some measure of peace...
