The sun crested the horizon, its rays creeping across the battlefield like hesitant fingers testing blood-soaked ground. Where monsters had fallen, steam rose from their corpses, creating an ethereal mist that painted the morning in shades of crimson and gold. The fortress walls, scarred by combat, cast long shadows that seemed to point accusingly at the night's violence.
Jon pressed a hand against his ribcage, each breath still a negotiation with pain. "We need to search for survivors," he managed, looking at his brother. James nodded, his right arm hanging uselessly at his side, but his eyes were clear with purpose.
"The dungeons first," James suggested, his voice rough from exhaustion. "If any of our people were taken..."
They moved through the town's ruins, other guards already spreading out in organized search patterns. The twins' earlier display had earned them respectful nods from their fellow soldiers, a far cry from the usual dismissive glances.
"About earlier," Jon began as they navigated a partially collapsed corridor. "That technique we used..."
James carefully stepped over fallen stonework. "Barely controlled chaos is what it was. We're lucky it didn't kill us outright."
"But it worked." Jon paused, testing a damaged door for stability. "Even if it was just barely enough."
"Barely enough against common orcs," James corrected, bitterness edging his voice. "Any decent B-rank would have torn through our combination like paper. We still lack..."
"Fundamental control," they finished in unison, a phrase they'd heard countless times during training.
Their conversation cut short as they reached the dungeon level. The air grew thick with the metallic scent of blood and the musty tang of prolonged imprisonment. Their training took over, checking each cell methodically until a weak voice called out.
"Who... who goes there?"
The twins rushed forward, finding a cell partially obscured by collapsed debris. Through the gaps, they could make out several figures. One of them, despite her battered state, maintained an aura of authority that made both brothers straighten instinctively.
"Lady Falia!" They began clearing the rubble immediately, their earlier exhaustion forgotten.
The lady knight was in rough shape. Her armor was dented and torn in places, dried blood coating one side of her face. Yet her eyes remained sharp, assessing her rescuers with military precision.
"Jon and James," she recognized them, her voice carrying the weight of command even in her weakened state. "Report."
"The town is secured, my lady," Jon answered as they worked. "Lord Lloyd himself led the assault. The orc lord is dead."
Behind Falia, other soldiers stirred. The cell held over seventy men, all bearing the signs of brutal captivity but alive. As the twins cleared the last of the debris, the respect these hardened warriors held for Falia became evident.
"Lady Commander first," one injured soldier insisted when James tried to help him up. Others echoed the sentiment, even those barely conscious.
"Don't be foolish," Falia attempted to stand, swaying slightly. "Help those who need it most..."
"My lady," a gruff sergeant interrupted with surprising gentleness, "you took their beatings for us. You'll accept our respect now."
The twins exchanged glances, understanding dawning. The lady knight's injuries weren't just from combat, she'd deliberately drawn their captors' attention, protecting her men at her own expense.
Meanwhile, in another part of the fortress, Lloyd moved through the manor house with grim purpose. The building bore signs of desperate resistance, scorch marks on walls, broken furniture, and darker stains that spoke of final stands. He found Baron Reiner in his study, crumpled behind an overturned desk.
The baron's breathing was shallow, his normally robust frame battered almost beyond recognition. Lloyd knelt beside his old friend, checking his pulse with practiced care.
"You stubborn fool," he muttered, noting defensive wounds that suggested Reiner had fought hand-to-hand against multiple opponents. "Always did have to do everything yourself."
When the twins arrived with Falia, supporting her between them, Lloyd had already prepared a coach for immediate departure.
"The baron needs Briar's healers," Lloyd announced, his voice brooking no argument. "James, Jon, you'll accompany us back."
"My lord," Falia stepped forward, wincing but determined. "The men need leadership here..."
"They need you alive," Lloyd cut her off. "And you need proper healing. Someone else can handle the aftermath."
As the coach prepared to depart, Lloyd addressed the gathered soldiers. "Tend to the wounded! Search every corner of this town! I want a full accounting of survivors and..." he paused, his voice softening slightly, "and those we lost. Send riders to neighboring baronies for additional support. The Briar name stands with Rowena in this hour."
The coach departed as dawn fully broke, leaving behind a fortress where victory and tragedy danced in equal measure. Inside the vehicle, Baron Reiner's labored breathing provided a grim rhythm to their journey, while Falia finally allowed herself to slip into exhausted sleep, her head resting against the padded wall.
The twins sat in respectful silence, their own injuries demanding attention they couldn't yet spare. James watched the passing landscape with tired eyes, while Jon found himself studying Lord Lloyd's expression. Their commander sat perfectly still, one hand resting on Reiner's shoulder, his face set in lines of steel and sorrow.
"My lord," Jon ventured quietly, mindful of the sleeping Falia. "About our performance during the battle..."
Lloyd's eyes shifted to him, carrying an unexpected warmth. "You surprised everyone today, including yourselves." His gaze moved between the brothers. "But you're already thinking about how it wasn't enough, aren't you?"
Both twins straightened despite their injuries. "Yes, my lord," James admitted. "The technique was unstable, barely controlled. Against a stronger opponent..."
"Against a stronger opponent, you would have fought differently," Lloyd interrupted. "The measure of a warrior isn't in having overwhelming power, but in using what power you have wisely." He glanced at Reiner's unconscious form. "Remember that."
The coach continued its urgent journey toward Briar, carrying its wounded and weary passengers through the breaking dawn. Behind them, the fortress stood as a testament to both victory and cost, its shadows slowly retreating before the new day's light.
In the distance, wisps of smoke rose from settled battles, and the first relief parties from neighboring baronies were already visible on the horizon. The night's darkness had passed, but its echoes would resonate long after the sun climbed high into the azure sky.