Death is not scary.
For tribal warriors, death on the battlefield represents honor. Desert bandits, on the other hand, have long treated life as a joke. However, being torn in half alive, and watching it with your own eyes, is a fear that most people cannot bear.
Jasper Caldwell stood expressionlessly beside the body of his dead enemy, wiping the blood dripping from his face with the back of his hand. The smell, which should have been pungent, was inexplicably tempting, and he wanted to lick it.
His lips stopped at the last second before touching the back of his hand, and a struggle flashed in his eyes.
"Monster!" a tribal warrior screamed. "The great witch has given an oracle that he is a devil! The devil that brings all disasters!"
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