Rhys sat at the edge of the crater, his gaze locked on to the destroyed garrison around him. His body no longer ached. It was all thanks to Father Caelen's healing.
It had been thorough, perhaps too thorough. Every broken bone mended, every electrical burn erased, every internal injury reversed as if the fight had never happened.
But the humiliation remained.
Sylph floated beside him.
A figure emerged from the garrison's damaged entrance. It was his bodyguard.
"Lord Rhys," the hooded figure spoke in a deep voice. "You're alive. That's... good."
"Clyde," Rhys acknowledged without turning. "I'm fine. Father Caelen's healing was exceptional."
The bodyguard stopped at a respectful distance away. "I watched the fight from the observation platform. You fought well, my lord. Better than I expected against an opponent of that caliber."
"I lost," Rhys said flatly.
