"Don't worry, the others in the team won't come tonight because of personal matters."
Quick Rope lay on to the bed carelessly, swinging his arms, which ached from the intense fight just now, he then said,
"Let me guess: Dean purposefully drew them away, and his target was you."
A broken and damaged oil lamp, lit using animal fat, shone brightly in the small house of the mercenaries. Dean's body was already covered with a piece of rough cloth while he lay quietly on the ground. As for Thales, he sat cross-legged on the ground, leaning against the wall while constantly remaining wary of Quick Rope who lay on the bed with a pleased look on his face.
After a long while, Thales finally managed to organize his train of thoughts. He said softly, "What is going on? Why, why are you—"
