The last of the rhynselks fell to his skill. Their blood oozed from their bodies and into a shallow lake of crimson. An excellent harvest. A macabre sight.

He turned away from the scene, trying not to think about the smell of iron on the air or the unclaimed power in all that blood.

They had not entered. He was done. That was all that mattered.

His teeth clenched as he processed that thought.

More bodies filled the space within the walls. More blood. More he could take.

Ignore it.

The queen's body was the biggest among the corpses, a mountain of flesh and fat and blood. So much blood.

Ignore it.

"Looks like it's over," Tiador said.

"Yeah." He hopped down from the wagon wall and stumbled with the landing. Pain shot up his knees. He suppressed a wince.

That shouldn't have hurt. With his Strength and Dexterity—

No, he knew better. It wasn't just his Concepts and Skills scrambled. Even his stats had been changed.

He had only a third of his previous Strength and maybe half the Dexterity. At least he'd gotten a lot more Will, Alacrity, and Resolve from the deal, but for unknowable—perfectly knowable—reasons his Vitality had gone way up too.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He needed to be more careful. 'New' spells he could explain. Clumsily breaking his ankles dismounting from a wall was harder to rationalize away. And Tiador wasn't an idiot.

Tiador and Daidyn followed him down, landing with a grace far more expected from physical martials. He could feel their eyes on him. Had they noticed his stumble? Or was it just the eyes of subordinates on their superior?

"We should regroup with the caravan leadership," Tiador said.

Why? So he could go back to hiding behind other martials? His teeth clenched tighter.

He didn't need that.

He didn't need to hide.

He was strong. Fighting had earned him another level.

Level Up!

+ 1 Str

+ 1 Res

+ 2 Frt

+ 2 Vit

+ 5 Free Points

He flinched at the notification. That wasn't a human's stat increase. It should have been one point in Str from his First Step expansion, three free points from being human, and two more from the grace of reaching the Gate. This was almost double.

Was he going to get this many points every level from now on? Was this a side effect of being a demon?

A stupid question. It had to be.

The real question was what he did about it. His mother would tell him not to touch his stats. Anything he did to them might set them more permanently in this twisted configuration. Might make him more permanently this demon thrall.

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It went without saying he didn't want that.

A clever man might leave the Free Points undistributed and wait until he'd seen the miracle healers his mother had found.

And yet, he still felt the twinge in his knees from jumping from the wall. It would take much more than five points to set his Str and Dex back to their previous values, but it would be a start. And it would be so much easier to hide that his stats had been changed if those two hadn't.

Or he could embrace it, a voice not his own whispered. What is a mage doing with such physical stats, anyway? Why waste his time on this mixed path when the power of a pure mage and then some was waiting at his fingertips?

No. No. No, the smart thing to do was to wait. Wait until he'd seen the healers and gotten their expert opinions. Only an idiot would mess with this now.

And he wasn't an idiot. Really.

But this was a distraction. Tiador was right; they should regroup with the caravan. Even if he wasn't going to hide, regrouping was smart. The caravan wasn't going anywhere tonight.

It took only a quick glance to see that most were injured. Blood pooled over the gravel. It dripped down legs and oozed from wounds. Ignore it.

Several wagons were broken. Many horses were simply gone.

None of which was his problem, beyond being an obstacle to this caravan moving again.

Was the caravan master even still alive? The caravan was finished if he was among the dead. They were close enough to Belden they could make it on their own if that's what it came to.

But, no. There was the man. And Alyx.

And her.

They were discussing something.

The caravan master spotted him over the bastard's shoulder.

"My lord!" the excitable caravan master shouted as they made eye contact. The caravan master's arm hung in a sling. A bandage wrapped tight around his forehead, attempting to staunch an oozing head wound.

"I'm going to go tend to the wounded," she said, the blue of her robes fluttering as she spun away from him.

"Cass," Alyx hissed after her. "Wait! You should—"

He tuned them out as the caravan master continued. "Amazing work, my lord! Amazing work! Thank you!"

A grin slipped across his face. Adoration was appropriate.

His contribution had not been planned, but that was all the greater reason for them to heap praise on him.

"I had heard about your contributions to rescuing the dragonlings during the festival," the caravan master continued. "But it's another thing entirely to see your skill firsthand. I can hardly believe you could kill so many of the beasts alone!"

"A shame he didn't use it before the rhynselk breached the walls," Alyx drawled as she stepped back into the conversation. Her arms were crossed, her fangs bared for a fight.

He scowled. Just like the bastard to sour a good thing.

"He shouldn't have needed to," Tiador cut in. "He is injured, remember?"

His scowl deepened. He was being forced back behind that lie again.

"He shouldn't have been forced to defend anyone in his state," Tiador continued.

His teeth clenched tighter.

"Oh," the bastard said, her nails suddenly interesting to her. "Right. I forgot."

Blood pulsed loud and hot through his ears.

"Injured," she repeated, her sharp eyes cutting through him. The single word was equal parts condemnation of his weakness and doubt of the claim.

It was every part biting criticism.

Criticism she had no right to level.

His hands clenched at his sides.

"All the more impressive then!" the caravan master chimed in, the man's voice a salve on his pride. "To do so much while injured that the rest of us struggled with. A hero among men, certainly!"

The bastard rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Just like her, to dismiss him like that.

The caravan master continued heaping on the praise. It should have felt good. It was the minimum reward he should expect. He should be negotiating compensation.

Instead, a weight pressed on him.

His eyes drifted away from the caravan master and over the dead and dying.

A campfire ignited amid the cold. Its heat stole his breath.

She stood from beside it, turning to speak with one of the caravan's help. Something warm and certain slipped over him. The tension in his jaw released. The clench of his hands loosened.

She didn't so much as look at him.

His hands clenched again.

Why had she walked away? She, more than this boot-licking caravan master, should be heaping on the praise.

She was no one, yet he'd done as she'd Commanded. Her trick had worked again.

She should be on her knees begging his forgiveness for forcing him to act like that.

She should—

Why, a cold voice whispered at the back of his mind. What backing do you hold? Not now or future Dragon Knight. Not now or future Heir. Not favored son or grandchild.

Who was he?

His hands clenched tighter, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. Had they always been so sharp?

No, he was Kohen. He repeated that to himself as the caravan master moved on to other topics. Organizing the survivors. Repairing the wagons. Watch for the evening.

He was Kohen, he repeated again as they all ignored him.

He was— The name slipped from his mind. His hands clenched tighter, and his heart pounded in his ears.

He dumped all his Free Points into Str, pushing the stat closer to where it was supposed to be. His nails dug deeper into his hand. Blood, warm and sticky, trickled between his fingers from his palm.

He was Kohen. He had to be. So why did every repetition sound more and more like a lie?

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