Back in the camp, Duncan sat before a table in his tent. The air carried the scent of ancient leather and candle wax, a salient testament to the weapon forgery he practically indulged in. Clad in his intricate black robe that seemed to absorb even the tiniest bit of light, he gripped the spike-filled chain from the table, whilst his eyes measured it with a calculated intensity, his mind pondering on how to enhance the already lethal capabilities of Ivan's chains.
Lucy was seated at the far end of his tent. Since she had been assigned to look out for Duncan in case he needed anything, that gave her the privilege to step into his tent. She was busy packing up the necessities that would be needed for tonight's journey, but her eyes could not leave the beautiful man who was concentrated on nothing but the chain in his grip.