The sun had already set behind the numerous trees, with only an orange sky left before complete darkness arrived.

The camp remained in chaos when John returned along with the few soldiers who had followed him. Men and women walked around the camp, carrying bodies towards the healers' tents. There were no live enemies to be seen. They were either being executed on the spot or rounded up in a corner. John was too tired to try and find out which of the two.

Those already dead were left where they were to be buried later, likely in a mass grave. Though taking care of the living took precedence, burying the dead was also important lest they attract ghouls. Or something worse.

John had never seen the undead necrophages in person, and he hoped to keep it that way. To his surprise, Jacke’s body was being carried towards the healers' tents, meaning that the captain still had some life left in him. Hopefully, he would survive. John still had no sympathy for the racist bastard, but he had to respect the man’s courage in combat.

Other than taking care of the bodies, the soldiers also scoured the camp for any leftover pieces of triotium, put out fires, and set up lightstones for illumination. After such intense fighting, everyone still had work to do.

John wanted nothing more than to go back to what was left of his tent and sleep for the rest of the day. He was trying to think of a way to skirt his duties when someone approached him.

The armor covered every inch of her skin, but the extra space around the chest attested to her gender. Her silver-like armor would look pristine if not for the splatters of blood. From the left shoulder down to the hand, the silver color gave way to green and red details. That, coupled with the soaring phoenix emblazoned on her breastplate, signaled her position as one of the Ashens, the Duke’s elite soldiers.

“Soldier,” she spoke in a low voice that John was barely able to hear through the ringing in his ears. “You rallied the troops against Vasilis’ wife, correct?”

He nodded, worsening his headache and the pain in his neck. “Yes, Dame.”

The Ashen gestured towards the small hill at the center of the camp. “Lord Lanard requests your presence.”

“Understood,” John answered, before following after her. Normally, given that he was hidden amidst the resting army, such a meeting would make him apprehensive. Right now, though, the simple act of walking up the hill seemed like the most daunting trial of his life.

His legs were already throbbing before he even took the first step. When he finally arrived at the top of it they were starting to cramp. The pieces of his armor had never weighed so much. There was a sharp pain on his neck whenever he moved it, no doubt whiplash from when Marietta sent him flying.

The only upside to it all was that she had died, and it happened through his hands. With any luck, her husband’s corpse would be somewhere around the camp and John would be able to move on from now.

“How in the seven hells did you allow Vasilis to escape!?”

Or not. John gritted his teeth in response to the loud voice coming from inside the main tent, worsening his headache. He followed the Ashen into the tent, catching a glimpse of Lanard Olsandre berating a stick-thin man by the table.

“Rass, you had six other Paladins with you while Vasilis only had two, and somehow you let him escape.”

“My men betrayed me, it wasn’t my fault. If not for Joran’s sacrifice, I’d be dead.”

“So your own incompetence isn’t your fault, got it,” Athalia remarked from across the table. Hagen stood beside her, saying nothing. He looked… tired.

“Why am I being blamed for everything? It’s not my fault that Vasilis somehow attacked us with enough crystalized mana to level a castle.”

There was a moment of silence following Rass’s words. Only then did John’s presence was noticed.

“And who is this?” Athalia asked.

Lanard turned around, his green eyes locking on John. “One of your city guards, apparently. Though, from what I heard, he may deserve a promotion. What are you called?”

John spoke in a low voice, trying to not be discovered by either Hagen or Athalia. “Rody, my lord.” He bowed his head despite the pain.

“Remove the helmet, lowborn, you’re in the presence of your betters,” Rass ordered, doing a complete one-eighty in regards to how defensive he was just now. “Is that how you discipline your people, Hagen?”

Lanard glared back at the man. “You’re in no place to speak, Rass. If not for your men’s betrayal, we might have caught Vasilis already. Now stop talking before I do something that you’ll regret.”

Rass remained quiet after that.

“Now back to you, Rody. My men tell me that you were instrumental in killing Vasilis’ wife, rallying your fellow soldiers to fight when all hope seemed lost. You’ve done a great service.”

“I thank you for your kind words, my lord,” John answered with another painful bow. His heart then skipped a beat as Athalia walked around the table, her eyes studying him.

“They tell me,” Lanard continued, “that you managed to steal two pieces of crystalized mana and used them against the enemy.”

“Is that so?” Athalia asked, eyes not leaving him. “Strange that they’d still have any pieces left before engaging in combat.”

Lanard raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that he didn’t steal the crystals from the enemy, but had on him from the start.” She took one step forward. “I know that because I gifted him the crystal coins myself.” Her voice took on an edge and she seemed at the brink of exploding. “Take off the helmet, John.”