The battle is going well. If your forces keep this up, victory is assured.
Not only is your reinforced flank tearing through the enemy line, but your center is, as well. On all fronts, the enemy infantry has begun to lose ground. You and your reserves move behind your slowly advancing forces as they cut their bloody chasm into the enemy line.
Death stalks the ranks of both armies. Men die in droves, their lifeless bodies joining the piles below.
You attempt to estimate this death. But such estimates mid-combat are rough at best. Still, you estimate that your men have cut down six hundred of their forces.
But you estimate you've lost five hundred of your own in return.
Elya watches this unfold with distant eyes. She's been silent since the battle began. Darin, riding alongside her on her left, is silent as well.
You lock eyes with the old warrior for a brief moment. With disgust written on his face, he slowly shakes his head.
You turn your eyes back toward the conflict.
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