The battle was nearly decided, yet the Galdorian army refused to surrender. The clash of steel and the cries of the wounded echoed across the battlefield as the struggle continued, claiming more and more lives from both sides. Despite losing their mages, the Galdorian soldiers fought with desperate tenacity, while the allied mages, though powerful, were nearing their limits.
Thorian knew the situation was growing dire. He turned to Alaric, his grandfather and the Grand Mage, who had already done so much to turn the tide of battle. "We need to end this now, before we lose any more," Thorian said, his voice tense with urgency. "We have the upper hand, but it could slip away if we're not careful."
Alaric nodded in agreement, his eyes sharp and calculating. "The key lies with King Galdor. If we can find him and bring him down, the rest of their army will fall apart."
Thorian called over Maria and Sebastian, who, despite their exhaustion, still had enough strength left to assist in the crucial task. Together, they began the arduous process of scanning the battlefield, searching for any sign of King Galdor. The chaos of battle made it nearly impossible; enemy soldiers, bloodied and desperate, swarmed around them, and the constant din of combat drowned out any subtle clues.
The hours dragged on, and the sun began to sink below the horizon, casting long shadows across the battlefield and still, they had not found the king. In the end, there was no choice but to take the hard way. The Alanorian forces, though severely depleted, fought on with grim determination, subduing the Galdorian soldiers one by one. It was a long, grueling process, and the sacrifices were many. By the time the last enemy had fallen, the sun had already drowned in the sea of blood that had been spilled.
The battle had lasted only a single day, but it had claimed more lives than the wars of the past few years combined. As the battlefield fell silent, Thorian ordered a report.
The scale of the carnage was staggering. Thorian knew he had to assess the damage and take stock of what remained of his forces. He called for a report, dreading what he would hear.
Mage Samuel, his robes tattered and stained with blood, approached with a weary expression. "Your Majesty," he began, his voice hoarse, "the Alanor army... We began with 8,870 soldiers. Now, only 1,124 remain. Of those, barely 600 are still in fighting condition. The rest are too injured to continue."
"The Galdorian army," Samuel continued, "has been decimated. A few managed to flee, and we've captured 3,038. The rest... they've perished."
Thorian's heart sank as he saw the numbers, nearly 90% of his forces were lost. The reinforcements would still take two days to arrive. They needed to somehow keep the allies occupied and hold on to the city of Ashvathaa until then. If the representatives from Pita or Reaal chose to betray him at this crucial moment, he could lose everything. He had to remain cautious and keep them occupied, ensuring they were busy guarding against each other to consider betrayal.
The toll was staggering. The survivors, battered and bloodied, gathered what strength they had left and began the slow, painful retreat to Bluehaven. They needed rest, and they needed to regroup before they could even think of what to do next. But even as they limped back to the safety of the fort, Thorian knew that their trials were far from over.
As Thorian sat in the quarters of Fort Bluehaven, the harsh reality of politics reared his head. The mages from Pita and Reaal, whose aid had been crucial, now sought their concessions. Thorian, weakened by the battle and in need of their continued support, was forced into a brutal negotiation.