Asher sat silently in his carriage as it rolled forward under the moonlight, wrapped in the blanket of the night. At this time, Lyra wasn't with him inside the carriage; she sat on her own horse, riding just beside the moving vehicle.
Asher sat with his eyes closed. The window beside him was also shut as he remained deep in thought. He could still feel his boots soaked with the heavy, iron-rich smell of blood. With every part of his body enhanced, especially his senses, the scent slammed into his nostrils like a tidal wave.
He felt nauseous. He felt like vomiting, as though he could literally taste the blood on his tongue. But Asher didn't dare throw up; he clenched his jaw and forced everything back in.
Asher couldn't be blamed. Prior to his transmigration, when he was still Ethan, he had never been in a single fight, not even a minor scuffle involving a thrown fist.
