CHAPTER 93: CHAPTER 93 - BROKEN MORAL

The battlefield was completely silent for a while after the fight had ended. Some bandits saw this chance to make a run for it since their leader had fallen, and others tried to put up a last-minute struggle.

Morena took a second to snap back to focus, her gaze shifting from the scene of the fight to the people around her who had started fighting again. The smell of smoke and blood was everywhere, thick enough to sting her throat with every breath she took.

Adolf and the captain stood a few paces ahead of her, both of them steady despite the chaos around. The Rank 1 bandit was on his knees between them, his weapon long since broken and thrown aside.

His greatsword lay cracked on the ground, just outside his reach so he couldn’t try anything funny.

He was bleeding from the chest where her spear had pierced him, but he was still alive, breathing heavily, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and rage.

"Hold him down."

Her mind moved just as quickly as her mouth did, as her voice boomed through the noise around them and gave her an order.

The nearby soldiers obeyed immediately.

Two of them stepped forward, gripping the man’s arms and forcing him down onto the dirt, his face eating the very dirt he was stepping on before, a shame he couldn’t bear.

Even with all his strength, his body was failing him; he couldn’t even fight off the mere apprentices holding him down. The wound on his chest pulsed with each breath, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Morena pulled her body together and stood up from her resting place, she stepped closer, her armor scraped and cracked, her body screaming in pain with each step.

She stopped in front of the man and looked down at him, her expression plain as various thoughts flowed in her mind.

"We’re going to capture him, alive. He has more use that way."

The captain gave a small nod, tightening his grip on the man’s shoulder.

"He won’t live long without treatment, my lady."

"We can’t have him dying on his, so let’s treat him. Of course, the basic needs at best."

She said in a cold, dry tone. She could see the man’s eyes shifting around as she spoke; he was feeling so many emotions at once it was hard to pin down any specific one.

But she could see a hint of fear in there.

"But we can’t have him acting up now, what shall we do..."

The man looked up at her through the blood running down his face, his teeth showing as he tried to grin despite the pain.

"You think... this is over?"

He tried to spit the blood in his mouth at her, but she just stepped to the side and avoided it with ease.

"Doesn’t matter what you do to me... ten more will take my place."

Morena crouched down so their eyes were level.

"Maybe."

She said in a soft voice, almost like a whisper.

"But you won’t be one of them."

She turned her gaze to Adolf.

"Cut off his hands and legs. Make sure he doesn’t bleed out, well, he’s a warrior, he should be able to handle that much."

Adolf was a bit surprised by the order, but he didn’t question it. He drew his blade with one clean motion and moved to the front of the man. Two soldiers forced the man’s arms flat against the ground, and before he could even finish another laugh, the blade came down once, then again.

The scream that followed echoed across the entire battlefield, loud enough that even the fighting slowed.

The man’s body jerked once, twice, before he slumped forward, his breathing shallow and uneven. Blood pooled beneath him, but Adolf was already pressing fabric into the wounds, binding them tight with practiced movements to stop him from dying right away.

When it was done, Morena spoke again.

"Have the medics treat him properly and carry him back with us. I’ll question him myself later."

The soldiers nodded and dragged the man away toward one of the carts, leaving a faint trail of blood in their wake.

Morena stood there for a long moment, her spear still in her hand, the energy inside her long since burned out.

Around her, the fighting was dying down.

The bandits who were still alive had seen what happened; they had seen their leader kneeling in the dirt, limbs gone, defeated. The courage that once held them together had turned to fear.

The line that had once resisted the soldiers finally broke.

Some threw down their weapons and ran into the trees; others dropped to their knees and begged for their lives. Very few still fought out of madness or pride, but they were quickly cut down.

The archers on the ridge loosed their final volleys, shooting down the runners before they could escape into the woods. Arrows whistled through the air, and one by one, the screams faded until only the crackling of fire and the sound of shifting armor remained.

The battle was over.

Morena walked forward through the wreckage, past the bodies of men who’d fought for nothing and those who had fought for their homes. The camp was torn apart; tents shredded, wagons overturned, blood soaked into the dirt.

A soldier approached her, his armor dented, his face smeared with blood.

"My lady!"

He said, saluting.

"The remaining bandits have been captured. Around twenty, maybe a few more. The rest are dead."

Morena nodded, looking over the field one more time.

"Prep our dead for transport back first, they deserve a hero’s funeral once we return. Strip the bandits of anything useful, and burn the rest."

"Yes, my lady."

"And search the cave, they’ve been staying here for a while, they must have something useful."

The soldier bowed and moved to carry out her orders.

Adolf walked up beside her, his expression unreadable, though the faint tension around his eyes showed his concern.

"You took quite the hit back there."

"It was rough, but I’ll live. The experience was quite something."

Morena said with a worry-free voice, showing the man that she didn’t mind the injuries. Her voice was steady, but her arm ached each time she gripped her spear.

The captain joined them, wiping blood from his hands as he did, yet it did nothing but smear the blood around more.

"You won’t believe it, my lady, the men are already talking about your fight and you."

His tone was somewhat proud, boastful even, as if he were the one the soldiers were talking about. Morena didn’t care much for what they were saying; it did little to help her, yet the man didn’t stop himself from telling her.

"They’re calling you the Serpent Spear of Ravenscroft."

Morena raised her eyebrow at the nickname; it was an odd one; she didn’t quite understand how it suited her.

"Why?"

"They say that when you fight, your spear moves and bends like a serpent going for the kill. They’re not wrong, my lady; your way of fighting with a spear is quite interesting. Where did you learn it?"

Morena narrowed her eyes slightly. Honestly, most of her fighting style was just instincts; she didn’t specifically learn anything beyond her practice in her younger days.

Since waking up in this world and fusing, she hadn’t actually properly practiced the spear technique her father taught her ages ago; she had just done what felt right.

Perhaps that was where the ’serpent’ came from; she just fought wildly.

"Just practice. But, they can call me whatever they want... as long as they remember why we fought."

She looked over the field again; the corpses, the smoke, the faint orange glow of the fires still burning in the wrecked camp.

"I don’t believe these were mere bandits, something more is going on here. And they just might have to fight more battles like this in the future. We need them ready."

Adolf’s gaze shifted toward the carts where the mutilated leader lay bound and bleeding.

"If we can make him talk, we can know for certain if someone was behind this, and if so, who."

Morena nodded slowly.

"We can torture it out of him, and the other bandits, if we need to. Have them kept individually in the cellar when we return, I want to deal with him myself."

"As you wish."

The wind blew across the field, carrying the faint smell of ash and blood. Morena looked toward the horizon, where the sky was turning gold with the sunlight.

It should have felt like victory; but it didn’t.

Something about this fight sat wrong with her. The way the bandits had moved, the way they’d armed themselves... it wasn’t random, yet they lost so easily.

They planned so much, they had so much weaponry, yet just lost?

Whoever planned it hadn’t expected them to win, she just didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish by doing it.

She turned and began walking back toward camp, her soldiers parting to let her pass.

Behind her, the men began clearing the field, stacking the dead and cleaning the weapons, the sound of their labor echoing faintly against the mountains.