By the time the company reached the heart of the Reaper Forest, they were all tired, battered, and, frankly, sick of fighting all day.
For the past day, they had been killing everything that moved, giant centipedes, dead, shadow wolves, massacred, weird flesh-eating plants that screamed when cut (those were particularly disturbing), absolutely dead, and even some mutated deer that tried to gore them with antlers made of bone spikes.
On the bright side, all of it was valuable. The mercenaries and retired soldiers harvested pelts, fangs, venom sacs, and whatever wasn't cursed or actively trying to bite them, tossing it all into the cargo wagons for resale once they reached the north.
Darin wiped his forehead, glancing at the wagons. They stank.
"I swear, if I have to smell another rotting bug carcass, I'm gonna lose it."
"You already did," Vincent said, smirking as he slapped Darin's shoulder. "Like, five monsters ago."
"That was different. That was rage."
