It was his first time facing such a heavy army, and his muscles ached with a bone-deep weariness he had never experienced before.
Across the battlefield, Wymar and his men were finishing their grim task. They were still burning the bodies; one of them came and took the body that was before Jolthar.
Finding himself unable to stand any longer, Jolthar sat again near the fountain, its once-clear waters now tinted pink with blood. His drake settled beside him, its scales still warm from the heat of battle, offering silent companionship.
He held his sword, its tip pointing towards the ground, as he leaned against it for support.
From his position, he watched the men as they worked to gather those giant purple men in the square, their bodies looking even more massive in death than they had in life.
The sound of footsteps drew his attention as Roblan approached and sat beside him.
Unlike Jolthar, who had been in the thick of the fighting, Roblan's armour showed less wear. He had fought his own battles, though, dealing with the assassins who had tried to strike from the shadows while the main force engaged in direct combat.
"Jolthar, you really are something," Roblan said, his voice filled with genuine admiration and perhaps a touch of awe. His words hung in the air between them, heavy with unspoken recognition of what they had just survived.
Jolthar looked at him, then turned his gaze back towards the men working in the square.
Roblan had barely kept himself alive during the battle, staying mostly behind and fighting with the assassins too. His tactical approach had proven effective, though different from Jolthar's more direct fighting style.
He sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the day's events in every breath. "What a day it had been!"
"You can say that again," Jolthar replied, his voice rough with fatigue.
The morning sun continued to rise over the battlefield, casting long shadows across the square as the survivors went about their grim task, each lost in their own thoughts about the strange purple warriors.
Meanwhile, the morning light cast long shadows across the woods as Preeyonka led her group of men away from the barony town, her mind racing with the implications of what they had just witnessed.
The appearance of the general had changed everything—not just their tactical situation, but perhaps the entire scope of their mission.
She couldn't help but replay the moment in her mind: the massive attack he just pulled.
Her order to retreat had come swiftly and decisively.
"Fall back! Fall back now!" she had commanded. But she ordered one of his men to stay behind and observe the situation.
As they put distance between themselves and the town, Preeyonka found her thoughts repeatedly returning to the young warrior she had observed during the battle.
Jolthar, the Kaezhlar clan member, had displayed fighting prowess that went beyond mere training. There was something unique about his movements, a natural fluidity that spoke of innate talent rather than just learned skill. The way he had handled his sword showed both expertise and an unusual connection to the weapon that intrigued her deeply.
Her group member, Maeris, rode up beside her. The relief was still evident on his weathered face. "Captain, the men are grateful for your judgement today," he said quietly, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"We've seen you take... bolder approaches in the past."
Preeyonka allowed herself a small smile, acknowledging the courteous way he referred to her occasional reckless decisions. "Well, it would have been a real mess, Maeris. But we've learned something valuable today." Her mind was already working on how she would present this information to her commander, but more importantly, how she might create another encounter with the young swordsman who had so captured her attention. Get full chapters from novelFirｅ.net
"The general's arrival was unexpected," Maeris continued, "but there's something else troubling you, isn't there?"
"That boy," Preeyonka replied after a moment's hesitation. "The one from the Kaezhlar clan. Did you notice anything unusual about him?"
Maeris furrowed his brow in concentration. "Besides his skill with a blade? What else is there?"
She paused as if thinking about him, and she said with a glint in her eyes, "We'll need to learn more about him. Much more."
Maeris could only nod, seeing her interest.
Meanwhile, several leagues away from the barony town, a very different scene was unfolding in a small clearing surrounded by tall trees.
Dagur, Ozug, and Yilar had been travelling at a gruelling pace, their horses showing signs of exhaustion as they approached their destination.
The air grew noticeably colder as they neared the clearing, and an unnatural darkness seemed to seep from between the trees, despite the morning sun overhead.
They dismounted at the edge of the clearing, their boots crunching on frost-covered grass—frost that shouldn't have been present in this season.
Dagur took the lead, his experienced eyes scanning the darkness ahead. He could feel the presence before he could see it, a weight in the air that spoke of power and authority.
The figure materialized from the shadows gradually, as if the darkness itself was coalescing into a vaguely humanoid shape.
Dagur stepped forward, his voice steady despite the oppressive atmosphere. "I apologize, my lord. I have failed to advance. An unexpected arrival has hindered the army.
General Remin appeared," he reported, providing the key information first, as was expected of him.
The shadowy figure's response seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, a voice that bypassed the ears and spoke directly to the mind.
No worries. We have just started." The words carried a cold certainty that sent shivers down the spines of all present.
"It won't be the last time we see them. For now, fall back; return to the province."
Dagur nodded, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one.
He and Ozug turned to leave, but Yilar remained rooted to the spot, gathering his courage.