A soft clap echoed behind him.
Damien turned in an instant, hand already drifting to the hilt of his blade—but he exhaled when he saw who it was.
Jason, wearing his usual carefree grin, stepped into the moonlight, twin daggers strapped lazily at his hips."I swear, man," Jason said, letting out a low whistle as his eyes scanned the scattered remains of broken automatons, "you're not training—you're straight-up executing training tools. Those cost Contribution Points, you know."
Damien gave a wry smile. "They weren't strong enough."
Jason strolled closer with a loose shrug. "I don't know why you're pushing this hard. Everyone already thinks you'll win one of the Thrones. You and Sara, at least."
Damien's eyes narrowed. "That's the problem. Everyone thinks that. I won't let it go to my head."
