Ludwig stood up, the dull ache in his joints giving way to a slow-burning steadiness as the Bastos Wine coursed through his veins. The groan of bones repairing themselves was no longer alarming, just another discomfort in a long line of accumulating injuries. He rotated his shoulder with a grimace, feeling the last sharp snap of a rib slotting into place beneath the skin. This time, the fight had taken a turn. Not a victory, not even an advantage, but something new. And that was almost more dangerous. The repetition of death had given him a strange kind of certainty. But now? He was in uncharted ground.