"Balmar!" Goras shouted. He leaped from the sky and slashed the creature's mouth.
The pressure disappeared from Balmar. He saw Goras spinning here and there fighting against the beast, protecting him.
His sight was blurry. Arms weak and heavy. Goras turned around and shouted something at him. He couldn't hear. Everywhere around him were soldiers who fell one after another. Then he recalled that he was on a battlefield.
This is no time to rest.
Balmar trembled. He clenched his fist and roared. Ignited. Large stride to the beast and slammed them with his fist. He grabbed a sword and cut his enemies to pieces. Roaring, raging, he was like a stormy sea with thunder and lightning.
He attacked any monsters he saw, hopping and leaping towards them before striking them down. Feet wobbly, he forced all of his broken bones and muscles to move, to charge.
His roar muffled every sound on the platform. The relentless attacks that he showed inspired the Prime Soldiers. They tightened their grip and stared at their enemy with newfound energy. For a moment all their tiredness and pain turned into nothing. They charged forward, ramming their blade into the enemy's heart.
The battle lasted till midday when the sun was at the most bright.
Every monster fought to the last. None survived. The platform was covered with their innards and blood. Corpses all around, some stacked on top of the squires and coachmen.
Balmar felt his knee weak. He stabbed the Doom Sword to the ground and used it as a cane. He mustn't fell. He was the symbol of their strength. Even the bend of his knee was unacceptable. Like a strong tree, his legs were straight.
The Endless moor was silent once again. Nothing in sight, even on the horizon. These creatures came out of nowhere. What were they?
The squires grabbed every medical supply they had left and tended the wounded. They couldn't do anything to those who had critical wounds. Most of their work was cleaning the wound, and covering it with a cloth. As for those who had broken bones, stitching them with sticks was their best work.
Many died today. And it was his fault.
He should stop this atrocity and return. His men had enough training. And the treasure he looked for was never in sight.
Balmar doubted there was a treasure here. He might have misunderstood his father. Maybe he didn't look for treasure, maybe he just lose his hat or something and came to look for it here. Yeah. That must be it.
"Get yourself a proper rest," Balmar said. "We are going home by sunrise."
He noticed Goras glancing at him from the corner of his eyes. That's right. It was his fault.
The army prepared their tents once again. The camp was destroyed without anything proper left. They'd thrown it away and built a new one. The squires set up the fireplace and boiled the water in a pot. The Prime Soldiers lifted the dead creatures and threw them out of the platform. They didn't eat it.
"Wait," Balmar said. "Use some of them as food."
The Prime Soldiers looked at each other. "But sir. You said no food."
"The Man Hunter will not waste any good meat."
The Prime Soldiers opened their helmets and smiled.
"I am not sure if this is a good meat, sir. But we'll sure get our stomach full from this."
"Even one of these could feed the entire neighborhood."
Balmar smiled. "Don't talk too much and get the food done. I'm starving."
The soldier laughed as they dragged the beast away.
On the other side, at the edge of the platform, a squad of Prime Soldiers opened the power suits of their fallen comrades. They had critical wounds. Holes in the stomach, rib cage piercing the heart, and many others. The soldiers pulled them carefully, put their bodies at the edge, and prayed. After that, they covered the face with a cloth and pushed them out of the platform. They did it to respect the dead, to respect nature.
Nature feeds us, so it was only natural to feed it back.
Balmar noticed Goras at the edge of his shoulder. The man gave him a slight glance and walk away. Why did it seem like they were in a relationship and had a fight, so now we avoid each other.
He shook his head. The smell of meat drifted to his nose. The fireplaces lifted. The crocs were laying on top of the stones with a bunch of fireplace under it. It was too big and too long.
"Hey," Balmar called. "Why don't you cut the meat into pieces before roasting them?"
"It would taste different if we do this, sir."
Balmar didn't know what to say. "At least removed the scales."
"Yes, sir."
The Prime Soldiers pulled out their Doom Sword and peeled the scales away. They weren't very precise with the cut, so some chunks of meat were wasted. A few moments later, the Prime Soldier flipped the croc. It had to be done with more than six person or else the croc would fall off the stone grill.
They cheered when they succeed in flipping the croc. The meat turned golden brown. Sadly, they didn't bring any spices or ingredients with them. That would be nice.
One of the squires approached the croc and pulled out a small wooden container that. He shook the container in his hand and then carefully shook it on top of the croc. Salt came out of the small holes on top of it. The man walked through the length of the croc while pouring salt all over it.
Why would you bring salt to the battlefield?
He didn't want to ask but luckily someone did.
"Salt can help the wound heal faster."
Balmar doubted that. He had salt on his wound before. It stung terribly. Well, he was a child at that time, so compared to being crunched in between the jaw of a giant crocodile, the salt on the wound was nothing.