When Victor had first crossed paths with Blackfin, the feeling had been simple, professional respect. The kind a soldier reserves for someone competent, dangerous, and reliable.
Now, standing here and hearing the full weight of the man's deeds, that feeling had quietly transformed into something else entirely.
Admiration.
Victor had served his country for most of his adult life, bleeding and obeying in equal measure, yet he could not shake the uncomfortable thought that this lone mercenary, operating in the lawless badlands with no flag on his shoulder, might have accomplished more for their homeland than he ever had. The return of the Nine-Tripod Cup alone was enough to cement that idea. Its recovery had shaken the nation, dominating headlines for weeks. A national treasure, thought lost beyond hope, had simply reappeared. No one knew who had done it.
