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Late at night, Karyl opened his eyes.
“You think you’ve earned the right to a private audience with me, do you?” he called out.
Karyl’s gaze was fixed on the darkness, despite the room appearing empty to the untrained eye. He could sense someone’s presence, and he even knew who it was.
“Black-Eyed…”
From the shadows, a pair of pitch-black eyes, darker than the surrounding darkness, stared back at Karyl.
“Whether friend or foe, to meet a leader, you must present something of equal value. Be it the head of your own leader or that of your enemy,” Karyl said with a bitter smile.
“But just because the positions are the same doesn’t mean the scales are always balanced. It’s merely an outdated rule. Beheading the artillery captain was sufficient merit.”
The man said nothing in response.
“I’m not sure if it’s your pride or your stubbornness. The leader of your tribe is already dead. If you want to stick to the rules, then do it right. Bring me the head of an enemy leader before you stand before me again,” Karyl said harshly.
“Go to the White Bunker and bring me Tuli’s head,” he went on. “If you do that, I’ll grant you anything you desire. Understood? Zigra Kum.”
The Black-Eyed warrior’s gaze wavered slightly. Karyl’s uttering his name caused a shift in his otherwise stoic expression.
“That name… Did Hashir tell you? I didn’t think the fox’s tongue was so loose.”
“Does it matter? Names...
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