"RATHBORNE IS DEAD! FINISH THE REST!!" Baron Glorfile loudly bellowed as he stood proudly before the corpse of his enemy, blood and viscera marring his half exposed body and ripped up attire.
"The Baron has won; victory is ours!" A peak B-rank soldier who faithfully followed the Baron raised his blade and hollered before cutting down one of the remaining enemy soldiers, starting a reenergised culling.
With Rathborne dead and Sierra forced to flee morale plummeted amongst Crown Prince Randolph's forces, their hearts torn, their souls despairing as death overwhelmed them.
Despite having a good twenty or so combatants left there were no additional deaths or injuries amongst their killers, hope and morale making a clear visible difference in their capabilities.
Cavalish slowly floated down from the sky, his expression somewhat ambiguous. Rathborne's death and his survival was a good thing, but he couldn't help but feel a little depressed regarding his role in the man's downfall.
