An hard place

The attack force had set out in the morning, ninety bandits their target. Now, the battle was over, and not a single one remained standing.

Victory had been swift, decisive, merciless.

The fight itself had not lasted long—most of the bandits had fled at the first sign of defeat, only to be cut down as they ran. The ones who had stood their ground met their end with steel, their bodies now strewn across the bloodstained earth.

But it wasn't over yet. The work of warriors did not end when the killing stopped.

There was still one final task.

The camp—a wretched place of filth and suffering—could not be left standing. The very ground was tainted by the horrors that had taken place within its tents. It needed to burn.