The battle was over.
The forest clearing, once filled with the clash of steel and the screams of dying men, had fallen into grim silence. The bandits who had chosen to fight lay strewn across the ground, their lifeblood soaking into the dirt, watering the ground with their life essence.
Those who had tried to flee had not made it far—skewered from behind by relentless pursuers, who found themselves not to have much mercy for a kind that thrived on attacking harmless people.
A handful had thrown down their weapons and surrendered, now forced to their knees, hands bound behind their backs as they awaited whatever judgment was to come.
Robert took it all in with a cold, assessing stare. There was no glory here, only bodies and the stink of death.