The Ethisian ships that nearly took down Lord Grania and most of his forces landed on the battlefield, from which came Ethisian and YYrejite soldiers.
As soon as the hatches, gates, and doors from the ships opened, the smell of blood filled their nostrils, making most gag and vomit. The equivalent of earth flies and all sorts of scavenging wildlife began feasting on the decaying remains of the Granians’ victims, making quick work to cleanse the environment.
As this happened, some of the soldiers were driven to tears. Seeing scraps of their own kind’s bodies was the last thing they expected to ever see, and yet again, they were fighting a war against the Granian race.
Out of respect, the soldiers shooed the scavenging creatures away and made quick work of gathering the remains of their fallen comrades.
Using their bare hands, the Ethisians and their allies, the YYrejites, gathered all the remains in several piles and burned them, not allowing any creatures to feast. All of this was done with heavy hearts and short curses under their breath aimed at the Granians.
As that occurred, the Ethisian High Ruler Enor emerged from his ship. Clad in a white robe and white armor with gold trims, the Ethisian witnessed the scene and nearly burst into tears.
Puddles of Ethisian blood, piles of burning flesh, and scraps of metal here and there were what was left behind of his people, the people who fell at the hands of the Granians.
’Had we arrived sooner,’ he lamented with eyes fixed on the burning flesh piles, ’we would have saved them. We could have spared them from such a cruel death.’
While in thought, one of the soldiers approached Enor with a disturbing object in their hands. It was a piece of Elyssara’s armor, impurified with claw marks and several dents.
Enor shut his eyes and clenched his fist. Words couldn’t even begin to describe the bitterness that grew in his heart so instead, he chose silence. After a few minutes had passed, the Ethisian took the piece of armor with him and then traversed the battlefield.
He took note of what had happened, starting from the puddles of blood to the signs of struggle here and there. Unexpectedly, about one hundred or more live Granian and Cyclitharan soldiers were presented to him.
These were the ones left behind by the rest of their kind who made quick haste to escape. The majority were injured, some already at the brink of death. Others, who still had strength in them, did nothing more than throw a few curses at the Ethisians while already accepting their fates.
As soon as they were presented to the High Ruler, they knew death was the only thing waiting for them. None bothered to attack, fight, or escape. Even if they tried, where would they run to? No one was coming to save them. Follow current novels on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦•𝘯𝘦𝘵
"Granians," Enor spoke with eyes showing the bitterness burning within, yet his tone remained as calm as ever, "you seem to have been left behind by your kind. Why is that?"
The Granians dared not speak back. Already knowing they were going to die, they might as well have done it "honourably" by not speaking to the enemy.
"Your lords and superiors didn’t see it fit to take you with them? Why weren’t you taken along?" he asked again, but alas, none dared to respond.
The Ethisians surrounding the wounded Granians readied their weapons and prepared to slaughter them. However...
"Bring them sustenance and medical aid immediately." He commanded, shocking both his soldiers and the Granians. "These unfortunate souls remain loyal to a people who did not even think of escaping with them. They put themselves first, showing the Granian race’s true nature."
"But...High Ruler Enor," one of the Ethisians complained, expressing the same thoughts the others had, "these are our enemies. Look at what they did. They are the cause of the burning piles behind you. Are you considering showing them mercy after what they and their kind did to us?"
"We...we didn’t do this...all of this..." a voice from the captives resounded. Upon looking, it was revealed that a Cyclitharan was the one who spoke. As soon as it did, the Granians that were captured alongside it cursed, forcing the Cyclitharan to remain silent.
The Cyclitharan, however, did not care. It wasn’t loyal to the cause, nor was it loyal to the Granian army. It, like the rest of its colleagues, was nothing but pawns their rulers sold in exchange for cheap materials to aid in a war they were in no way involved in.
"...the Blood Mutant...it did this...all of this on its own..." a swift fist swung to the creature’s head, nearly taking out its eye in the process.
Enor himself blocked the attack before helping the Cyclitharan rise to its feet. The creature was injured, suffering a grave flesh wound to its leg. With its one eye, it looked at Enor and said;
"The Granian Blood Mutant...the one that’s male...the stronger male...it did this. We thought it was a rumour, that one...of your own managed to kill him...’
’Ely? So she did succeed.’
"b-but then he came from...nowhere and laid waste to the entire battlefield. A few of our own soldiers were caught...in the crossfire. If you’ll check properly, you’ll see my own kind’s blood and bodies in those piles..."
Enor, hearing the pain behind the Cyclitharan’s words, felt sorry for the creature. The soldier, like many, must not have wanted anything to do with the war. In fact, it was a pawn sold by its superiors for measly resources and minerals, which were not as valuable as its own life.
As these thoughts settled in Enor’s mind, an idea sprang in the form of an interesting question. How many soldiers within the Granian troops felt the same way? How many could be swayed to fight for him?
"Do as I’ve said," he commanded his soldiers while personally guiding the Cyclitharan to his ship, "give them sustenance and medical attention. Those who refuse it can be left to die on their own. I’m sure their bodies will give out to infection, judging by the wounds they have.
"As for you, my one-eyed friend, I have an interesting proposition for you. Come with me."