He relaxed, slightly, but was now coldly angry instead of enraged. "Fine, but when you get back to them,<em>politely</em>advise them that while I might be a sociopath, I am proud of my abilities in combat, and calling me out on my judgement of a situation is the same as asking if I know what I am doing in a fight."<br/><br/>He knew he should be tired, as he stared at the ceiling of their loaned tent, but he felt fine, which meant that the prospect of a REAL fight had fired up his blood, even as his PTSD started flaring as well, hence his outburst. It wasn't rational, but it had happened, and he would deal with it as it came. For the moment, that meant getting an hour or two of sleep, and then heading ahead of the army to start setting his 'gifts' for the trolls up. Not as refined as the claymores he had used, but potentially more deadly, as he would be building them using local materials, and the trolls would cheerfully charge through them to get to the army, ensuring maximum destruction. He could barely wait.