Rowan felt a headache coming on. The arriving battles were going to be harder as he could no longer one-shot these creatures. Thankfully, he had a great weapon, and he knew his growing abilities would still make all these concerns meaningless soon enough.
Speaking about weapons, what happened to his shears? It occurred to him that he may have lost it during the chaos of the battle, and he had forgotten about it.
"I need a skill on weapons care, can't go around losing my weapon and leaving them behind in a field of battle." Rowan knew it was not his fault, he did not grow up fighting battles, the only reason he was not a gibbering mess was because, in a manner, he was numb.
He had experienced too much in so little time, and he knew he needed a lot of quiet time to go through his garbage and work things out with himself.
The battle waits for no one. Rowan would forge on, until he succeeds, or dies.
