Somewhere in the forest, while Zuna questioned the desperate bleeding man, Henry's silver sword claimed the life of its last victim, severing the man's head in a clean and swift attack, causing the headless body to crumple to the ground and join the countless others that littered on the floor. The heavy scent of iron lingering on the air seemed to wrap around Henry, like an unexpected companion or a long-lost family member. It felt comforting and nauseating at the same time.
Trying to brush off the smell hanging on him, Henry took a brief glance at his soldiers, who were firmly maintaining the formation while awaiting new orders. They were breathing in ragged breaths and some of them even suffered from a few minors injures that would probably take a few days to completely heal, but fortunately, no life under his lead had been lost this time.
