Day 10
As the convoy continued on its journey, a hushed awe descended upon the travellers as they rounded a bend and suddenly, before them, stood the colossal statue of the Sword Saint. The statue was a magnificent and imposing figure, its grandeur radiating an air of solemn majesty. Perched upon a high pedestal, the Sword Saint was captured in a moment of triumphant victory, frozen in time as he wielded his mighty blade against a figure that was once his trusted friend but had turned traitor.
The craftsmanship of the statue was truly remarkable. Every detail of the Sword Saint's determined expression, his flowing robes billowing with an ethereal grace, and the intricate engravings on his sword, all seemed to come to life in the golden light of the sun. The traitor, portrayed in a posture of defeat and regret, added a poignant contrast to the scene, a stark reminder of the consequences of betrayal.
The statue's immense size dwarfed the onlookers, making them feel like mere specks in the presence of a legend. As the convoy drew closer, the sheer magnitude of the statue's form became even more apparent, instilling a sense of humility and reverence. The Sword Saint's legacy and his unwavering commitment to righteousness were etched into every curve of the statue, leaving an indelible mark on the hearts of all who gazed upon it.
"Majestic!" Heather exclaimed, his voice filled with awe and excitement as he gazed upon the legendary sight that had until now existed only within the confines of written words.
"Hehe! And soon, we'll be able to ditch that unwanted baggage and I can finally enjoy my well-deserved fiesta," Darryl exclaimed, his excitement rooted in a different set of motives.
"Where did you pick up such fancy words?" Heather inquired.
"What? Do I look like an illiterate hobo to you? Do you even know who my father is? Do you realize which faction I belong to? I'll have you know, I attended the academy!" Darryl retorted defensively.
"I had no idea you went to the academy. You do know that it is a crime to impersonate an academy graduate, right?"
"When did I ever claim to have attended the academy? You should show respect to your senior clan warrior and allow him to finish his sentence, instead of interrupting like some uncivilized market vendor. Let me complete my thought. I was saying that I almost went to the academy."
"Then what happened? I heard they even accept dimwits for menial tasks, so why were you rejected? Did they realize you lack enough brain cells to even qualify as a dimwit?"
"Haha! How amusing. As a member of the Righters clan, you should avoid using derogatory terms. You should refer to them as 'special individuals' instead."
"Alright, Professor of Diplomatic Speech, enlighten me. Why were you turned down?"
"They didn't reject me. When my name was brought up by the opposing faction, my father used his connections to have me replaced. He suggested another candidate, a moderately talented young man who had a slight chance of graduating. Due to his circumstances, he had little choice and was selected with the support of my family."
Booring!
"Boring, huh?" Darryl felt a bit embarrassed. He beckoned to Gwen and Alan, who were walking ahead of him. "Hey, you guys want to hear an entertaining story?"
"Not interested," Gwen replied, clearly not a fan of Darryl's jokes. Meanwhile, Heather burst into laughter.
"It's about how Heather ended up with a girl's name, and it's a true tale," Darryl continued.
"Go on," Gwen's curiosity was piqued, and Heather's smile quickly disappeared.
Heather's parents are quite elderly, I mean really advanced in years. You remember the elderly couple who came to bid us farewell, the ones you all mistook for his grandparents? Well, that's them. For a considerable period, they struggled with infertility; they exhausted every conceivable method and were growing desperate. It was during this time that a priest suggested they plant Heather around their residence to dispel any negative energy hindering their chances of conceiving. Without wasting a moment, they cleared their garden and filled every available inch of soil around their home with Heather plants. Even indoors, they placed pots of Heather wherever they could find space, and they even adorned their walls with images of Heather. In the midst of all this, a renowned physician visited the clan and prescribed a medicine to them.
After a prolonged period of trying, they eventually welcomed a child into their lives. They expressed their gratitude to the deity, the priest, and the Heather plant, which actually annoyed the clan doctor who had put in significant effort to assist the couple. They attributed their success to the miraculous power of Heather. Their fondness for Heather grew to the point of obsession; they became fervent enthusiasts and even named their child Heather, after the plant.
Stop making fun of my parents.
Alright, I will I'll switch to making jokes at your expense then.
"Hey, have you guys seen this one before the mission?" Darryl asked Alan and Gwen. They both shook their heads. "Do you know why?" Again, they shook their heads.
"Because his parents were convinced that if he left the vicinity of a Heather plant, something terrible would happen to this guy. So, he was home-schooled, home-played, and practically confined to his home. He's even on this mission for his home. Apparently, his parents took out so many loans for his treatment that his father, who is pretty old now, can't repay them. So, he's here to get some field experience, earn some credit, and make money to transform into a fancy, desk-bound bureaucrat.
“Do you guys know who are his best friends?” they shake their heads again. “A blue book and black book.”
Gwen couldn't help but ask, "How do you know so much about Heather?"
“He is my neighbour.” Heather replied, “and what’s wrong with having books as your friends.”
"What's wrong with that?" Darryl retorted. "My friend, you're about to step into a world of bloodthirsty politicians, and you don't even have a basic grasp of what's happening around you. You might know all the historical events, Magna Cartas, and the names of former clan lords. But I bet you don't even know who took over my position at the academy."
I don’t know, what’s the big deal?
"Of course, you'd say that. In fact, you're probably the only adult in the village who isn't aware." Darryl glanced at the others, and they all nodded in agreement. He continued, "He's actually here with us right now, and he's the one we dare not name."
"Wait, who?"
The commander.
The commander? Really!
He is the base-born son of our former clan lord?!
Hmmm! So that’s why we have such a young commander; I wondered how one with no connection becomes a commander so early. You kicked away your opportunity, and he seized it. Thank god, you didn’t go to the academy. Otherwise, you would have been my commander.
What on earth are you blabbering about? Were you even paying attention to what I said? Do you have any real understanding of the academy apart from what you've read in those books of yours? Graduating from the academy is no joke. You should at least have a rudimentary grasp of the world around you before throwing around insults. Our commander is more than capable of being an elder in a top-tier clan. He's been stuck as a commander for ages, all because of his origin. He's always out on these petty missions, constantly shuffled around with different units – it's like they've got him on a leash.
"Hmm," Darryl shook his head and went on, "Folks like us don't stand a chance in the academy. If you think you can just put in the effort and achieve the impossible, you've got it all wrong. When you're surrounded by prodigies from across the continent, you'll realize just how inferior you truly are. You'll amount to nothing; everything you accomplish will pale in comparison to those multi-talented, well-funded, divinely favoured base-borns."
The graduation requirements can only be met by prodigies like them or relentless individuals like our commander, who possess both exceptional talent and unyielding determination. Those average base-borns who boast of achieving anything through hard work will likely meet their demise in the attempt or fall victim to the disdain of prodigal base-borns who consider them an eyesore. Meanwhile, others who understand their place will willingly offer themselves in servitude to the prodigies, performing menial tasks and more. The wiser among them will choose a prodigy as their master, bowing to their every whim, and acting as spies on behalf of their master, all in the name of survival and securing a future after the academy.
"Look at that charred fool, enjoying his soup without a care in the world, oblivious to the fact that we are escorting him to his own grave. Unlucky jesters like him are bound to meet an early demise." Darryl remarked.
Mocking Darryl's apparent pity, Heather chimed in, "Oh, how touching, you've got such a tender heart."
"No, seriously," Darryl defended himself, "I do feel a bit sorry for him. He doesn't strike me as the spoiled brat he's rumoured to be. I suspect his clan lord must be a cruel master. Poor kid. Just look at his frail frame—could they have been starving him? Even slaves appear more robust than him."
Alan interjected with a whimsical thought, "Perhaps he's a slave pretending to be the young master."
Rolling his eyes, Darryl retorted, "You and your ridiculous jokes."
Heather couldn't help but chuckle, "Haha, true."
With a dismissive tone, Alan summed up their sentiments, "In any case, it's not our concern, nor do I wish to get entangled. His life, his fate."
*******************
Covering another two hundred miles, the wanderer eventually arrived at its destination—a bustling railway station. Yuvan keenly observed as the target engaged in a conversation with an individual who appeared to be associated with the Abwehr, the German intelligence service. Their discussion revolved around planning the target's journey to Germany, with routes via Afghanistan and the Soviet Union's Peshawar.
"Is he aiming to replace one tyrant with an even bigger one, or is he aspiring to become a tyrant himself?" Yuvan mused, pondering the motivations behind the target's actions. Intrigued by the unfolding events, he decided to continue tailing his mark, eager to witness how the unfolding drama would play out. However, Yuvan found himself in a financial bind—his pursuit had lasted longer than anticipated, leaving him with limited funds. He could ride the train like before, but the prospect of enduring freezing climate was unappealing, so he resorted to picking pockets for the necessary train fare, and then some, before settling into a coach close to the ousted leader.
As the journey progressed, the target's aide expressed his strong emotions, recounting a humiliating incident. "It was truly disgraceful," the aide declared, his voice brimming with emotion. "I know you endured it all for the sake of the country." He continued, shaking his head in dismay. "But that man, the right hand of the great leader, stooped so low as to accuse you—a man of integrity—of pilfering his brother's inheritance. He was well aware of your character, yet he proceeded to drag you through court, solely to humiliate you."
Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
"Enough," the leader interjected sternly. "You must be cautious with your words; even the walls could be listening." Heeding the advice, the aide fell silent, and a hush settled over the group for the remainder of the journey. The plan was carefully orchestrated, with the aide posing as a deaf man and discarding his Pashto-speaking disguise, making him an unsuspecting target for individuals working on behalf of the British.
“Stop!” The leader interrupted, “You have to be careful of what you say; even the walls have ears.” The ousted leader’s aide listened to advice, and everyone remained silent throughout the journey. A calculated strategy had been devised in advance, orchestrating the target's portrayal as a deaf individual and discarding his Pathan identity. This manoeuvre was aimed at exploiting the target's lack of knowledge of Pashto, the local language, which would render him vulnerable to Pashto speakers collaborating with the British. By assuming the persona of a deaf man and shedding his previous guise, the target hoped to navigate through potential dangers and circumvent any attempts to uncover his true intentions, leveraging his perceived vulnerability to his advantage.
Upon reaching Afghanistan, the target adopted a new guise and embarked on the next leg of his journey, travelling to Moscow using an Italian passport. While in Moscow, his left-leaning inclinations led him to seek assistance from the Union, given their historical stance against colonization. However, his efforts were met with a frosty reception. Throughout the journey, Yuvan found himself growing increasingly impressed by the target's determination. "If he manages to seize power and become a tyrant, then perhaps he is deserving of it," Yuvan reflected, acknowledging the resilience and resourcefulness demonstrated by the man.
*******************
Approaching Yuvan, the commander's sigh was heavy as he observed the young man engrossed in his soup. He decided to share some crucial information, leaning in to convey his message. "Listen, kid," he began, his tone serious, "we're approaching the academy shortly. I've already reported the events of the other night to the Zaštitniks. Be prepared for some questions from them when we arrive. In case you're not aware, the Order of the Zaštitnik is the continent's policing force under the academy's jurisdiction. Show them respect, even if they ask uncomfortable questions."
"Lastly, as your senior, let me offer you a piece of advice: 'Keep your head down, and don't let your emotions dictate your actions.' That's your key to survival here. Inside those walls, there will be many looking to take advantage of newcomers like you, so stay vigilant."
Yuvan nodded in response, his expression unfazed. The commander left him to his thoughts, a sense of benevolence underlying his words, though Yuvan's understanding of it remained shrouded in mystery.
"Finally! Behold the visage of the Great Evil Lord Hubal," Darryl exclaimed with a triumphant tone, a cheer escaping his lips as his eyes fixed upon the imposing statue. The nearing statue depicted the Sword Saint poised to deliver a fatal blow, his sword aimed at Hubal's neck. The fallen villain lay on the ground, his head slightly tilted, gazing defiantly into the eyes of his adversary. The scene was further heightened by the crimson hue of the sky and the sun setting into the vast expanse of the desert, creating a picturesque tableau as it peeked through the gap between the sword's tip and Hubal's neck.
As the convoy ascended the mound, a breathtaking panorama unfolded before their eyes. The academy, once a distant concept, now materialized into a tangible spectacle. The majestic black spire, standing tall and proud, commanded the landscape with an air of authority. Its towering presence seemed to reach out and touch the sky itself.
Around this central monolith, a symphony of architectural prowess was on display. An intricate tapestry of massive circular walls encircled the spire, creating a harmonious dance between strength and elegance. These walls, rising two stories high, extended into the horizon as far as the eye could perceive. The very sight of these towering fortifications conveyed an aura of grandeur and protection.
Occasional white towers punctuated the expanse between the sturdy circular walls, like pearls adorning the necklace of a monarch. While these towers did not possess the same imposing stature as the central black spire, they added a subtle grace to the overall composition. Their presence was a reminder that every element in this meticulously crafted landscape had a purpose and a place.
Within the shelter of the circular walls, nature herself seemed to have taken residence. Lush, verdant forests thrived within the enclosures, their vibrant greenery offering a stark contrast to the imposing stone structures. It was as though the natural world had found its haven within the boundaries of human ingenuity, creating a serene and enchanting juxtaposition.
The tableau that lay before them was a testament to the convergence of human ambition and the beauty of the natural world. It was a sight that stirred the senses and left an indelible mark on the hearts of those fortunate enough to witness it. As the convoy neared its destination, the awe-inspiring vista of the academy was a promise of challenges and revelations that awaited those who ventured within its walls.
"Truly a captivating sight," Heather agreed, his gaze fixed on the spectacle before them.
Darryl couldn't resist the opportunity to provoke Heather once more, jesting, "Of course, it's no surprise that someone named after a girl would appreciate such a view." This playful taunt reignited their familiar banter, and as usual, Agustin Verne, their commander, chose to ignore the exchange, focusing on more pressing matters.
With the realization that their journey was almost at an end, the convoy picked up its pace. As they approached the academy, their view was obstructed by a formidable stone wall. An awe-inspiring sight greeted their eyes – an entrance of monumental magnitude, a gate that seemed to defy the very laws of size and weight. Crafted from solid black iron, the gate stood as a sentinel, a guardian of the threshold to a realm of profound knowledge and challenge.
The sheer immensity of the gate was staggering, its colossal proportions a testament to the craftsmanship and ingenuity that had birthed it. Whispers of its weight circulated like an unspoken legend, a hushed tale that claimed the gate's mass to be around a thousand tons. Such a titanic presence ensured that only the mightiest of individuals, those who had honed their second chakra to mastery, could ever hope to muster the strength required to budge this behemoth.
Layered upon one another like a cascade of towering dominos, a succession of gates was skilfully arrayed. Each gate was intrinsically connected to its neighbour, a chain of formidable barriers that stood as a testament to the entrance's unparalleled security. It was not merely a matter of pushing through; it was a testament of power, a tangible representation of one's resolve and capability.
Intricately designed mechanisms lay hidden within these gates, mechanisms that responded to the application of force. The physics of motion determined their interplay, and the degree of strength exerted by an individual determined the outcome. Each gate, as if an instrument in a symphony of assessment, reacted to the force exerted, creating a complex orchestration of movement that mirrored the determination and potential of those who approached.
As the convoy stood before this awe-inspiring gateway, a palpable sense of reverence and trepidation hung in the air. This gate was not just an entrance; it was a rite of passage, a threshold to uncharted realms of knowledge and trials. It symbolized the transition from the mundane to the extraordinary, from the known to the mysterious, beckoning those who sought to enter with a challenge and a promise of transformation.
This gate system constituted the first-year test for students. Depending on the number of gates they managed to open, their rank and treatment within the academy would be determined. Nine gates in total assessed students on various aspects of their abilities. At the heart of the academy, beyond the ninth gate, loomed the black tower. This tower housed the master of the prestigious 'Order.' Graduation required clearing all the gates and meeting the tower's master, enabling students to return to their respective clans. Those displaying exceptional potential were offered the chance to take a test to become official members of the tower.
Rumour had it that even students who survived but didn't manage to graduate were sometimes extended a unique opportunity. They could serve the tower as lower-ranking members, a choice many made as it proved more favourable than being an elder in a lower-tier clan.
"Hold!" A guard's voice thundered, his words charged with authority and urgency. "Declare your identities and intentions! One step further, and you'll be met with hostility!"
Agustin signalled for the convoy to halt, responding to the guard's demand with a composed and resolute demeanour. "I am Agustin Verne," he addressed the guard, his voice projecting confidence. "Commander of the Celestial Hawk clan's unit, entrusted with the safe escort of this child to the academy as per the Order's request."
Hmmm.
"Ah, so this is the young lad that's been the talk of the town, eh?" The guard's voice held a mix of surprise and assessment. "Take a look at him, what a state he's in. But I'm afraid you've arrived a bit late today. Only officers have the privilege to open the gates after dusk, and our officer has already been summoned by the headmaster. Tough luck for you folks; I doubt any officer would be bothered to return just for this. They're all preoccupied with the newcomers."
The guard's gaze lingered on Agustin for a moment, his brows furrowing in recognition. "You look familiar," he mused, his tone curious. "Weren't you a graduate of the academy? Don't graduates possess the authority to open the gates? Why not give it a shot? It's been quite a while since we witnessed the gate fully unlocked."
"Wow, Commander, you're really going to do it?"
"Cheers, Commander! Give us a demonstration, show us the might of a graduate. Even if it's just for the lad's morale, we know you have a soft spot for him. It'll give him a little boost."
"Please, Commander, spare us another night out in the wild."
"Alright, alright, alright!" Agustin waved them off, signalling everyone to step back. He positioned himself at the gate's midpoint, leaning forward and placing his palms against it. As he pushed, the fabric of his clothes strained against the tightening and bulging of his chest, triceps, quadriceps, calves, and shoulders. The gate emitted a creaking sound as it began to yield and open.
"By the gods, he's not even using a hint of mana. This is all pure physical strength!"
"So this is what the power of a graduate looks like."
"Pushing a ton of weight with sheer physical force alone."
Even Yuvan, typically indifferent, couldn't help but display his surprise; a hint of approval sparkled in his eyes.
With a grin, the guard spoke, "You know your way from here, I assume?"
Agustin nodded respectfully to the guard and led the group forward. "Very well, everyone, let's proceed."
"Yes, Commander!" The group echoed in unison, their spirits visibly invigorated.
*******************
The ousted leader found a more welcoming reception compared to his time in Moscow. Despite being part of German propaganda, he gained permission to utilize the radio service, an offer he accepted with understanding. Addressing his nation after a prolonged absence, he captivated their imagination and rallied them to support the Axis powers. With this newfound support, he was granted permission to establish a Legion comprising around four thousand five hundred soldiers, all of whom were prisoners of war from his own country. Yuvan stuck around simply for the sake of curiosity. These legionnaires pledged their allegiance to both the Führer and their leader, solemnly declaring, "I pledge in the name of God this sacred oath that I shall obey the leader of the German race and state...." Yuvan chimed in with his own addition, "God save the country!"
The ousted leader's fortunes took a dramatic turn for the worse when the Führer made the ill-fated decision to lead his forces into the harsh depths of the Soviet Union, where the unforgiving winter awaited them. This strategic move proved to be a historical blunder, as history had shown time and again that conquering Russia and surviving its brutal winters was a near-impossible feat, save for perhaps the Mongols. As the German forces found themselves on the brink of defeat and the prospect of aid faded away, the ousted leader's support waned. Seizing the opportunity for a fresh start, he distanced himself from the ousted leader and made a calculated choice to join the Abwehr—a German intelligence unit.
Amidst the bustling halls of the Abwehr headquarters, Yuvan's path converged with that of Yohan Reinhardt, a figure who would eventually become his target. The setting was both ordinary and ominous, with the dimly lit corridors casting shadows that seemed to dance in rhythm with the hushed conversations of intelligence operatives passing by.
Yuvan's attention was immediately drawn to Yohan's presence. Standing amidst a group of officers, Yohan exuded an aura of confidence that demanded attention. His piercing blue eyes seemed to hold an enigmatic charm, simultaneously inviting and veiling the secrets he carried. A mop of blond hair crowned his head, lending him an almost ethereal appearance.
As their eyes briefly met, Yuvan felt a tinge of uncertainty creep up within him, an instinctive realization that this encounter would mark a significant turn in his mission. Yohan's charismatic demeanour was palpable even from a distance, and it left an indelible impression on Yuvan's mind.
It was in this charged atmosphere that Yohan's voice reached Yuvan's ears, his words carrying a weight that hinted at hidden possibilities. The suggestion to change his Jewish name and enrol in the Brandenburger. The process was stringent, but they were happy to accept someone of foreign origin, given Yuvan’s talent and their urgent need for capable personnel.
Little did Yuvan know that this chance meeting would set in motion a series of events that would reshape his mission, pushing him into the heart of a dangerous game where loyalties were fluid, alliances were tested, and his own mettle would be forged under the watchful gaze of the enigmatic Yohan Reinhardt.
Stepping into the midst of the young, elite officers, Yuvan was met with a palpable tension that hung in the air like a storm on the horizon. Their disdain for his presence was unmistakable, their expressions ranging from subtle sneers to overt expressions of contempt. The atmosphere crackled with hostility as Yuvan's arrival disrupted the delicate balance of their perceived hierarchy.
In the eyes of these privileged officers, Yuvan's appearance set him apart, an outsider amidst their carefully curated ranks. They couldn't fathom the idea of serving alongside someone they considered beneath their status, someone from what they viewed as a "lesser race." The seeds of resentment and prejudice had been sown, and they were determined to assert their dominance and reinforce their own sense of superiority.
Amidst the rigorous training sessions that followed, Yuvan found himself subjected to gruelling physical and mental challenges. The training regime was unrelenting, pushing them to their limits and beyond. Covert operations demanded meticulous planning and execution, small unit tactics required synchronized teamwork, and foreign dialects were mastered to perfection for the purpose of deception.
The training encompassed a wide array of skills, from mastering the art of parachuting and handling explosives, to becoming adept in the use of various vehicles, tanks, and aircraft. The recruits were expected to become intimately familiar with enemy weaponry, studying every detail and nuance to gain a tactical advantage.
Among them, a select few stood out as prodigies, their talents honed to a razor's edge. Yohan Reinhardt, that same charismatic and blue-eyed figure from before, emerged as a star among stars. His skills were finely tuned, his training branching into specialized fields such as forgery, demolitions, and the art of camouflage. The shadows became his ally as he learned to blend seamlessly into the environment, a master of disguise and subterfuge.
Following the conclusion of the day's rigorous training session, a member of the Brandenburger unit extended a challenge to Yuvan, proposing a friendly match that would serve both as a demonstration of senior assistance and an initiation for the newcomer.
*******************
“Once we hand over the kid to one of the instructors, we're heading back to the clan, right, Commander?” Darryl inquired, fearing their commander might pick up another unexpected mission.
Yes, Darryl, we're headed home.
“Yess!!!” Darryl exclaimed with joy.
“Hey, hold off on celebrating too early; we're in a place where plenty of missions are available. Even if our workaholic commander doesn't take a new task, the academy can request our assistance, and turning down the academy isn't an option.” Heather needled Darryl, who was dancing in excitement.
Don’t jinx it; you a**hole! Why are you always so negative? I don't understand why. Wherever I go, there's always someone negative like you. Let's talk about something else—let's redirect your negativity elsewhere. Maybe we should douse you with more Heather oil.
OK, enough of that. Let me ask you, why can't we just jump over the wall? I know it's rude and improper, but we've got a genuine reason (nodding toward Yuvan). Did you not sense the beasts growling at us from the darkness?
I don’t. I am mentally preparing for my fiesta, a place where negative thoughts are unwelcome.
Oh, there you go again. You're on a mission, so focus. Look around—you see the pathway? To our left and right, the forest is teeming with monstrous beasts.
Damn! I didn’t notice them at all. They are not emitting any killing intent.
They would have attacked you if you came over the wall. They are specifically instructed to attack anyone coming through, other than the gate.
“Good evening to all of you!” an instructor stepped out to greet them.
“Good evening sir.” They all replied.
It's getting late, and we thought the boy might have changed his mind—quite understandable, of course. Or perhaps you were delayed and couldn't make it today. That's why we called the officer at the gate to assist us. We apologize for any inconvenience, and I must convey our gratitude to the Celestial Hawk clan for safely escorting our student.
It’s nothing, sir; as a member of the righteous faction, it’s our duty to assist those in need.
Indeed. Well said, commander.
As for you, my dear, I'm sorry for what you've been through. Let's head to the infirmary and check on your condition before getting you settled in.
We'll take it from here, Commander. Someone from the Order will come to you—just a formality. Rest up until then.
I understand, sir.
That's settled then. Until we meet again, Commander.
Farewell, sir. The Commander looked at Yuvan and said, “Take care, Ethan. Remember the mantra.”
Yuvan nodded and went inside with the instructor.
“What an ingrate! Didn't even give us a proper thank you,” Darryl grumbled.
“He didn’t even look back, let alone thanking us”, Heather added.
“He didn't even look back, let alone express gratitude,” Heather added.
“Enough of that. Let's meet up with the Zaštitniks and head back to our clan,” Agustin said, a touch disappointed by Yuvan's lack of acknowledgement.