An irritated sigh escapes the man's lips, chapped from the wind and cold, when he plops down on the bunk next to you, having first thrown his shirt somewhere on the floor.

The pungent smell of cigarettes and coffee fills the entire space of the bed you share as he stretches to stretch his tired, stiff back, and opens his mouth to grumble.

"These blockheads have completely lost their fear. Pfft." - An irritated voice was heard in the tent. - "Everything, always has to be done by yourself. What do I even pay them money for?"

He was grumbling more to himself than to you, but a little support from his "betrothed" would be nice.

Lately, all his soldiers, slash archaeologists, have stopped making any attempts to get this fucking stone for him. What's so difficult about it? Can't they just turn on their brains?

He feels your gaze on him and exhales angrily through his nose.

"Don't you dare nag me again. This stone exists. And you will understand that I was right when I become as great as all the others who possessed it."

Zoran's head falls to the side and he stares at you, waiting for an obedient nod. He was always so strict.