Inside the new deep underground hideout, Igaris sat in silence, his eyes fixed on the flickering light of a rune lamp embedded in the stone wall.
He mourned for his losses.
Many of his subordinates had died protecting him. Reviving them would take time, effort, and energy he could not spare easily.
Worse yet, a few dozen had died permanently.
Perhaps their souls had been too fragile. Perhaps the mental damage they suffered in the battle was too great. Either way, they were beyond retrieval.
This wasn't a catastrophic loss. But it was alarming.
He clenched his fists.
Using them as distractions—like pawns to be discarded—had bought him time to escape. But the cost… it wasn't something he could easily ignore anymore.
He let out a slow breath.
From now on, he promised himself, this tactic would only be used when absolutely necessary.
Never again would he gamble so many lives so recklessly.
Because, whether he admitted it aloud or not, his perspective was changing.
