A/N: please be sure to read the author's note I left at the end of the chapter.
Following the death of the demon, we set about cleaning up the battlefield. Soltair and Trithe collected the corpses of the dead bandits before stacking them in a pile. The Sun Hero made sure to check each of their pockets first, going on about "looting is the victor's reward," or something of the sort. Fyren regained consciousness several minutes later, looking about in a daze until his gaze locked on to me.
"What happened?" he asked slowly.
I sighed, looking around the clearing. "We won. Barely. A sixth-level demon was far too strong for us."
He looked down at his shredded armor, feeling at the soft, new skin on his chest. "It seems I owe you a debt. I must say, I thought I was-wait, did you say sixth? I was certain it had grown beyond that and reached-"
"Sixth," I pled desperately. "Please."
