The thunderous cheers finally died down in the twilight.
Exhausted farmers, shouldering the last of the harvest, returned to the warmth of the town.
On the fields, only the camp of the Rock Breaker Knight Order remained. The bonfires scattered the swamp's chill and illuminated their blood-and-dirt-stained faces.
They had won.
They had not only won the battle against the Magical Beasts, but also the respect of the people who had once regarded them as bandits.
Ola sat by a bonfire, carefully wiping the last traces of bear blood from his great-axe with a coarse cloth.
The waterskin that the boy had handed him lay at his feet. He didn't drink from it again, but would occasionally glance down at it.
In that moment, he felt as if his parched soul was being refilled with something pure and clear.
The feeling was more satisfying than downing an entire cask of dwarven ale.
The din of the camp suddenly fell silent.
Velin walked in, followed by Barrett and several guards.
