Sylvia looked at her hands in dismay.
Her right hand was swollen from the shock, and she could no longer hold her sword.
It trembled pitifully when she tried to put strength into her grip.
Locke spoke as she sat in the dirt and stared blankly at her hands.
“Third rate.”
Sylvia gritted her teeth and jumped up.
“There are things you can say, and there are things you can’t say!”
Locke glanced at Sylvia's swollen hand with nonchalance before saying.
“There is a third-rate way to survive, but you don’t even have such a thing, so calling you third rate is a compliment.”
Flinch!
Sylvia took a step back without even realizing it, instinctively recoiling from the killing aura emanating from Locke.
***
Mercenaries often used ranks.
They were divided into grades of minerals such as copper,...
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