Markus discharged his next firearm through an opponent's stomach, the gun in question stolen from the belt of a deadman during the melee. The exit wound was as large as a kumquat, the bullet and fleshy shrapnel bursting out of the man's lower back. He gasped and sagged, Markus merely sidestepping coldly so the man's last moments of life were filled with the taste of dirt and blood in his opened mouth. 

"Demon! He's a demon!" A few of the fleeing men cried, and though the remaining thugs that weren't busy with the slave guards clearly didn't have that opinion of Captain Flintbrook, they had lost their morale and paymaster and withdrew steadily. Markus picked up another pistol and aimed at a fleeing man, only for it 'click' audibly and fire not at all. He holstered it and bent down to wipe his sword, only to notice his blade was as clean as if it had been scrubbed down and dried thoroughly. 

It was only then when he noticed some blood, but it was dripping down his brow from a cut he had received. Wincing, he felt something moving in his side, and gingerly he reached down to feel what it could be. His fingers touched a small bullet wound, wet, warm blood kissing his fingers. But a moment later, the pistol ball that he was sure would have been lodged at least a few inches into his body popped out and fell into his waiting hand, still slick with crimson lifeblood.

Grunting, he squared his shoulders, the cuts and bludgeoning he had received seemed to be on a quick mend, though somehow he knew they wouldn't disappear. It was the sword's blood magic. It simply had to be, and he would find out why and how later. As of now, he wouldn't question his good fortune, lest he be in the same position he had been before Emmaline had 'healed' him a week ago. Sheathing it, he turned and spotted the man Emmaline called Rajad with a bloodied sword standing beside the blonde who tried to scramble to her feet. 

Despite the healing, Markus still looked a bit rough and battle-worn, though his body was hale and his eyes weren't dimmed of their cunning, dangerous light in the slightest. A quick check and he still had the coins he had been given in the selling of the dark elf arms and armor. 

"Back to the ship, we'll sail as soon as we're able. We can buy provisions in the next town. We have enough for a few more weeks." He told them, stalking over the dead bodies and helping Emmaline to her feet.