"Kill...kill..."
With the unveiling of the blood-colored battle flag, the intensity of the war heightened. The Crimson Knights' Brigade continued their onslaught, and the Nobles' Allied Forces, realizing they had no way out, also erupted with renewed vigor.
Although the Serfs Army was weak, they had one advantage: obedience. As long as the noble lords led the charge, they would follow.
Perhaps it was blind obedience, or loyalty, or perhaps, the concept of 'deserters' simply didn't exist in their minds.
After all, all the means of production were in the hands of the noble lords, and the survival of all the families depended on the noble lords. Even if they wished to flee, where could they go?
'Atmosphere' greatly influences people. When those around one were fighting fiercely, it was impossible not to be affected.
Even Hudson, the Knight who was adept at coasting along, was now commanding his troops to counterattack. Although he wasn't at the forefront of the fight, he was still making a contribution to the war effort.
With each second ticking by, more and more private armies of the Nobles arrived on the battlefield shifting the scales of war gradually.
Atop the high platform, a grey-robed elder quietly observing the war spoke with cold detachment, "Nobles from the Southeastern Province are arriving continuously. It seems we won't be able to capture the Crimson Knights' Brigade today.
According to the timeline, we're almost at the limit. Let's leave these cannon fodders to toy with the enemy slowly. Let's have our people retreat first!"
Behind his seemingly calm tone was the elder's profound sense of disappointment. They had successfully lured the enemy out of the fortress, but they lacked the power to seize them.
There was nothing to be done about it. Compared to the Noble Consortium who had long ruled over these lands, the Skeleton Society was still too weak.
This disparity extended to all areas. Although they appeared to be fighting back and forth with the Nobles' Allied Forces, drawing even, the price they paid was multiple times more casualties.
This was so even with the advantage afforded by the 'Blood Moon Horn'. Under normal circumstances, the rebels, a motley crowd, would be no match for the assault of the Crimson Knights' Brigade.
That they had held on until now was solely because the Blood Moon Horn had taken control of the rebel soldiers' nerves, turning them into mindless killing machines.
But evil tools were, in the end, evil tools. The transformation of a person into a killing machine came with conditions. Not only did it require preliminary drug administration, but it also had potent side effects.
The forced mobilization of a person's potential was inevitably temporary. When the body's limit was reached, it would collapse.
This included the person who blew the Blood Moon Horn, who would have to withstand the backlash of the evil tool.
The man who had just been in his prime was now an old man, white-haired after blowing the Blood Moon Horn. If he delayed for just a moment longer, he might have been reduced to a skeleton.
Although he appeared to be alive, he was essentially dead. His life force had been massively drained, and with the evil qi invading his body, he was unable to resist.
This was not only the case with the 'Blood Moon Horn', but also with all divine artifacts on the Continent of Aslante— forcibly driving them had a price. It's just that the toll from releasing the 'Blood Moon Horn' was more severe.
If it weren't for these many limiting conditions, the 'Blood Moon Sect' would have unified the continent three hundred years ago, and there would have been no chance for the Skeleton Society to emerge.
With the retreat of the Skeleton Society's high-level, the sound of the horn also disappeared from the battlefield. The originally bloodthirsty rebel soldiers, upon regaining clarity, collapsed one by one on the battlefield.
"The war has been won!"
However, everyone's faces were devoid of joy, as they all knew this was only the beginning. Having failed to capture the Skeleton Society's high-level, the rebel army would surely rise again.
After counting the casualties, Hudson's face was grim. Despite continuously hanging around the edges of the battlefield with his troops, his losses were still tremendous.
"Forty-seven dead, nine missing, thirteen severely wounded, twenty-six lightly wounded." For a troop of just over five hundred men, this was a crippling loss.
Relatively speaking, the Koslow Clan had fared better. The other noble families who had joined in the allied forces suffered truly devastating losses.
For the Alliance, the number of casualties among the Serfs Army was no longer important, the key issue is that the noble knights had suffered catastrophic losses.
As the bravest and fastest chargers on the battlefield, they naturally took the brunt of the enemies' attacks.
When the Alliance members met again, they were all a disheveled mess. Their once bright armors were now stained red with blood, and their bodies emanated chilling murderous aura.
Many familiar faces were missing. This was Hudson's most direct feeling. Deep inside, he couldn't help but congratulate himself for playing it safe. Had he joined the assault, he could very well have ended up being a corpse on the battlefield.
"Indeed, those who rush forward recklessly die fast!"
Despite his disdain, on the surface, Hudson was just like everyone else. With so many comrades fallen in one go, how could he not show his grief and still be considered human?
"Let's divide up and look for the bodies to help recover the remains. If there are surviving family servants, let them take the bodies back. If not, arrange someone to send them off!"
Charles spoke in a low, downcast voice.
Such heavy casualties were undoubtedly a source of immense pressure for Charles, the nominal leader of the Alliance. Imagining the troublesome predicament as the Alliance's leader, Charles was disconcerted as he got none of the profits but was the first to encounter trouble.
With so many deaths, there must be an explanation. If you do not deal with the affairs of the comrades properly, you can drown in criticism.
Disposing of the aftermath wasn't just about recovering bodies, it was also necessary to secure the credit for their allies' exploits.
Although these families would have to go through a change of family heads, and were incapable of participating in the subsequent struggle for territory, resources as compensation should still be secured as much as possible.
In theory, you just have to do things by the book, but every adult knew that the system was executed by people. Without someone to help, so-called compensation would be a joke.
Others could avoid this, but Charles had to step up. Otherwise, how would he as the leader win the respect of people?
The reputation of the nobles was paramount. For the sake of his clan's name, Charles could only grit his teeth and continue.
Of course, there were two sides to everything. Although these issues were troublesome, If managed well, Charles' prestige in the noble circle would also greatly increase.
Everyone, including Hudson, nodded in agreement to Charles' proposal.
Everyone cared about their reputation in the noble circle. After all, they were allies, and recovering bodies was something they were willing to help with, despite the minor inconvenience.
However, this help was only applicable to the nobles themselves. Nobody cared about the common soldiers who died in battle.
According to the convention of the continent, the bodies of fallen nobles, if conditions permitted, would be sent back for burial. As for ordinary soldiers, it depended on the situation.
Without a doubt, with today's catastrophic casualties, the common soldiers were not taken into consideration. With bodies littering the battlefield, setting them on fire was the best solution.