Vincent needed to cool off. Not many people were back at the camp yet. He'd wait for them to get back... He walked into his tent and removed his armor, changing into lighter clothes. Myrmidion's clothes, actually. He had gained skills as a Myrmidion during his travels with various mercenaries. He'd abandoned his old golden armor when he'd lost his honor. He didn't deserve to wear such an honorable title. Working as a sell-sword had exposed him to many truths in the world. He'd allowed the deaths of innocents, and had even stolen things himself. He wasn't any better than that thief he had stopped. They could all see that in him. That's why he had been stopped. He probably needed that help. And yet, he'd almost killed one of his companions in the army. Maybe he wasn't any good for this army. Being such a self-righteous person, and persecuting those who did wrong was like a pot that called the kettle black. He sighed, and left his tent, walking out of the camp and sitting down under a tree nearby. He laid his sword down, and stared out at the field, trying to calm the raging tides of his mind. He wished he could be an ignorant and kind person like Wyeth. His world would be a lot simpler... He put away his thoughts, and meditated, clearing his mind.