Lucas sighed, running a hand through his hair. The weight of the situation settled on him like a heavy cloak. The elves were barely tolerating this arrangement, the freed prisoners carried their own burdens, and now, with slaver wagons in their possession, things were bound to get even more complicated.
Sylmira had already distanced herself, standing with the other elves, muttering among themselves. Their glares toward the beastmen and orcs were unmistakable.
Lucas ignored them.
Instead, he turned to M'baku, Ka'thar, Nyemba, and Za'kiel. These people weren't just freed prisoners—they were survivors. And now, they were looking at him for leadership.
"Alright," Lucas said, exhaling. "First thing's first. We need to cover our tracks."
He gestured toward the dead slavers. Leaving their bodies in the open would only invite more trouble. The elves, of course, were already gathering their own dead, treating them with reverence. The freed prisoners, however, had no such luxury.
