War Part Ten

The battlefield was now bathed in blood, the strong smell of iron and ash filled the air.

All around the place, there were bodies—some smashed so badly they were unrecognizable—dead horses, completely destroyed siege weapons, and smoke rising from some flames in the distance, from spells that were shot but never landed.

Among the carnage, the Berserk Knights sat atop the broken corpses of their enemies, some casually cleaning their weapons, others simply lounging as if they hadn't just wiped out an entire army.

Jarek let out a long, exaggerated sigh as he leaned back against a pile of bodies, arms behind his head. "Well, that was fun and all… but I think we need to address something very important."

Rurik, who was sharpening his war hammer with slow strokes of a nice enchanted sword he picked up, arched an eyebrow. "If it's about the kill count, I already know I won."

Jarek scoffed. "Oh, please. I was at least ten heads ahead of you."