“The feeling when a plan comes together properly is one to be cherished. Deities know that such occasions are too few and far between.” - Prophet-King Nasrudin Hamid of Edenua, a short-lived nation in the northern region of Ur-Teros, circa 382 VA.

“All right, that went pretty well even if I do say so myself,” said Reinhardt as he watched the last of his mercenaries return to their base deep in the forest. They had not fought for long, even including the battle against the enemy cavalry in the end, and his people did what they did best. They got rid of high value targets in a swift strike and retreated with minimal casualties.

Of course, even under near-ideal conditions battles were still messy things, and dozens of his people sported injuries of varying severity in the end. Some took those injuries while fighting their way through the guards around the siege engines, others from the enemy camp’s defenders while they were keeping them pinned down, while yet others were injured during the fight against the enemy knights.

One man even twisted his ankle when he stepped on a dead horse the wrong way and got himself the mocking laughter of everyone around him at the time.

The dead were fortunately kept to a minimum. A few archers and skirmishers who had bad luck to catch an arrow to a vital place, some troops who made mistakes, and the like. That there were less than two dozen deaths out of his two thousand was already a blessing in itself, especially considering that their sally had greatly diminished the enemy’s siege engines and crippled their heavy cavalry in one fell swoop.

On top of that, he even got to keep his promise to spare old Guillaume’s boy if he could, to boot, so it was altogether a nice day of work.

As for the situation on the battlefield, it also went well for the defenders. The militia had overwhelmed the enemy troops caught between the rubble of the seventh wall and the sixth wall with sheer numbers and took many of them captives. Just as many were slain in the process, while others were still buried beneath the rubble, their survival unknown.

By the time the besiegers managed to fashion a rudimentary bridge that would allow them to cross over the rubble without risking further collapse the Levainians had already withdrawn back into the city with their captives, which left the frustrated besiegers little choice but to attempt rescuing those buried beneath the rubble.

It was difficult to get a good estimate, but Reinhardt estimated that the trap likely caught up to twenty thousand or more of the enemy’s troops, with a good number of those buried beneath the rubble.

As for the field battle to the south of the city, the Podovnians beat a hasty retreat after the unexpected development behind them and left at least another five to ten thousand dead and captured behind them. The triumphant Caromans and Levainians chose not to pursue their foes, as there were more enemy soldiers near the city and it might end in disaster should the Anduilleans abandon their siege attempt and circle around the city to flank them.

Instead, they retreated calmly to their captured fort and rested in preparation for the following day’s battles.

Reinhardt’s mercenaries were doing much of the same in their camp. He wandered around and ran into Erycea’s platoon, most of whom were resting. His daughter was huddled with a few others around a boiling cauldron, though, which oddly enough smelled a lot like cheese to him. They were clearly in the middle of cooking some dinner.

It was common for members of a platoon to designate some people to be their cooks during a field deployment where they wouldn’t be with their support staff. Typically those who were assigned as cooks were the best ones at cooking, and were compensated for their time with extra shares and other privileges by the rest.

In Erycea’s platoon, Erycea’s group of close friends shared that role as they had most of the best cooks in the platoon, while the rest acted as their assistants. From what Reinhardt could see it was the half-orcish girl – Soledad’s daughter – who was directing the cooking that evening, while the rest worked to her instructions.

“Oh, hey dad. What brought you over?” asked Erycea as she noticed Reinhardt's approach.

“Oh, just walking around and checking how everyone is doing. How did it go with Guillaume’s brat earlier?” he asked in turn, as he knew that Erycea’s platoon was the one who captured Michel du Riffons earlier that day. “He didn’t make himself too much trouble I hope?”

“Eh, he himself went down without a fuss, dislocated his shoulder and all during the fall. Couldn’t resist even if he wanted to,” replied Erycea nonchalantly. “Some of his men were more trouble, but they got cleaned up pretty quick, especially when mom hit them as well, so nothing really troublesome all told. Do you need him? We hogtied him and tossed him with the rest of the prisoners.”

“Nah, he can stay there for the time being. We’ll still be in the woods for the night at least anyway. Tomorrow might be the decisive day so make sure everyone gets a good rest for that,” said Reinhardt in reply. “What are you cooking, by the way? I can smell cheese but that’s also a lot of chili peppers you’re cutting up over there.”

“Oh, it’s a recipe from Val’s grandmother, traditional orcish stuff,” said Erycea nonchalantly as she shoved the peppers she was cutting into the cauldron of stew. “It’s some sort of stew with cheese as the main flavoring, and a lot of spices. Good for keeping spirits up between battles, though I guess it’s pretty harsh on those who never ate spicy stuff before.”

That last comment made Reinhardt smirk in amusement. As a mercenary, he was used to traveling all over and trying all sorts of food from many regions of the world. One of the most common ailments that struck young mercenaries, however, was stomach issues, typically as a result of eating something they had never eaten before.

What Erycea described sounded like something that would like claim many victims that way, though her platoon wouldn’t be affected by it anymore these days.