The chaos of the night had given way to the grim reality of the morning. The river, once a place of potential escape, had become a graveyard for those who had sought refuge in its waters. Kara, with Wolfram by his side, stood victorious, having led his men through a battle that would be remembered in legends.
As the first light of dawn began to creep across the horizon, casting long shadows over the battlefield, Kara took a moment to assess the aftermath. The cries of the wounded had begun to fade, replaced by the distant sound of water as the river claimed the lives of those who had tried to escape. The once-boisterous camp now lay in ruins, its fires smoldering in the early morning light.
Kara's sharp eyes scanned the area, searching for a vantage point. Spotting a tall tree at the edge of the camp, he made his way over, his heavy footsteps leaving deep imprints in the blood-soaked earth. With the ease of a man used to physical challenges, he began to climb, his powerful arms and legs propelling him upward until he reached a sturdy branch high above the ground.
Perched atop the tree, Kara surveyed the scene below. From this vantage point, he could see the full extent of their victory. The camp, once filled with the enemy's confident and well-supplied forces, was now a desolate wasteland. Only the dead and dying remained among the ruins. The bodies of those who had fallen in battle were scattered across the ground, while others floated lifelessly in the river, their armor dragging them down into the cold depths.
Farther out, he could see the survivors—the few who had managed to escape the slaughter—slowly retreating into the distance. They moved in small, disorganized groups, fleeing into the forests and hills, desperate to put as much distance between themselves and the camp as possible. They were broken, their spirits shattered by the night's events.
Kara watched them go, his expression unreadable. He knew that these survivors posed no real threat anymore; they were simply the remnants of a defeated army, scattering like leaves in the wind. His focus was now on securing their position and ensuring that no threats remained.
From his high perch, Kara could also see his own men, some still moving through the camp, checking the bodies of the fallen for any signs of life, while others began to gather the wounded and prepare for the next steps. The battle had been brutal, but they had emerged victorious, their enemy crushed and their morale high.
Satisfied with what he saw, Kara descended from the tree with practiced ease. As he reached the ground, Wolfram approached, his armor still streaked with mud and blood. "What did you see?" Wolfram asked, his voice hoarse from the night's exertion.
Kara nodded toward the retreating figures in the distance. "They're fleeing. The few that survived are heading into the wilds. They won't trouble us again."
Wolfram looked out over the carnage, the weight of the battle still heavy on his shoulders. "And the camp?"
"Nothing left but the dead and the dying," Kara replied. "The river took care of the rest."
They stood in silence for a moment, taking in the aftermath of their hard-won victory. The sun was now fully above the horizon, its light revealing the full extent of the devastation. The camp, once a symbol of the enemy's strength, had been reduced to ashes and corpses.
Before Kara had spoken to the surrendered soldiers, Wolfram, covered in mud and blood from the battle, instinctively moved towards the river. His mind was still reeling from the intensity of the fight, and he sought the cold, clean water to wash away the grime and clear his thoughts. As he reached the riverbank, he knelt down, ready to plunge his hands into the water to cleanse his face.
But just as his fingers were about to touch the surface, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. It was Kara, his grip firm and unyielding. "What are you doing?" Kara's voice was low, but there was an edge of warning in it.
Wolfram looked up, surprised and confused. "I was just going to wash--"
"Do you want to bring poison to my army?" Kara cut him off, his voice sharp. Wolfram blinked, not understanding at first. then It suddenly hit Wolfram. River he was about to touch was bloody and filthy. Kara was not just a warrior; he was a leader shaped by the harsh, unforgiving lands of Central Asia, where the nomadic tribes had learned the hard way to respect the elements that sustained them. Water was precious, and contamination of rivers or lakes was seen not only as a practical danger but as a violation of something deeply sacred.
In those vast steppes, where people lived and died by the availability of clean water, entire tribes had perished because their water sources had been tainted. Disease and famine had swept through the lands when water was not kept pure. It was a lesson seared into the hearts of Kara's people, and one he now imparted to Wolfram.
Wolfram's shock turned into a deep understanding. He nodded slowly, stepping back from the river's edge. "I … I didn't think," he murmured, realizing the gravity of what he had almost done.
Kara's expression softened slightly, but his voice remained firm. "Remember this, Wolfram. Respect the water. It sustains us, and it can destroy us. Never forget that."
Wolfram looked at the river, the water reflecting the first light of dawn, and he understood. It wasn't just about battle or strategy. It was about survival, respect, and the ancient wisdom that had kept Kara's people alive for generations.
Kara then turned his attention to the soldiers who had surrendered. Their faces were pale with fear as they huddled together, watching the massive warrior approach. Kara's eyes burned with anger as he strode past them, each step heavy with menace. He seemed like a predator circling his prey, ready to strike at any moment. The soldiers flinched as he moved, terrified that he might suddenly decide to end their lives.
Kara stopped in front of them, his voice booming with fury. "Uluç! Do you know Uluç?" he shouted, using simple words that he knew they would understand. "Do you understand me?" His voice was filled with contempt, and his gaze was hard and unforgiving. He was playing on their fear, making them believe that an even greater force was on its way.
"Uluç's army is here," he continued, his voice dripping with menace. "We will hunt you down, one by one. Now go! Tell your commanders that they will soon know the wrath of Uluç." Kara was bluffing, of course. Their numbers were far smaller than he let on, but he knew the power of fear and intimidation.
He reached down and grabbed a few of the soldiers by their collars, hauling them to their feet with ease. Turning to Tanrıverdi, who had been silently observing the scene, Kara asked, "How many men does it take to deliver a message?"
"One," replied Tanrı Verdi, his voice steady and calm.
"Good," Kara said with a grim smile. He then left the scene with Wolfram.
Kara, Wolfram then walked together through the remnants of the camp, the early morning light revealing the full extent of the destruction. Smoke rose from the smoldering fires, twisting slowly into the sky. The camp was eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of soldiers finishing off the wounded. The once-mighty army lay in ruins.
As they walked, Wolfram joined them, his expression one of disbelief. "Kara," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "what have we done?" The army was larger than they thought.
Kara, too, was taken aback. He hadn't fully grasped the scale of their victory until now. As they moved through the camp, they peered into the tents, seeing the belongings and supplies left behind by the fleeing soldiers. The victory had been more decisive than they had anticipated, and the spoils were vast.
Kara nodded slowly, still processing the magnitude of their triumph. "I mean, Gök Tengri truely favored us I guess. But we must move quickly. Gather as much valuable equipment and supplies as you can. We need to inform the village immediately--we'll need wagons to transport all of this."
He gestured to the scattered remnants of the camp. "Anything that's still intact--horses, carts, anything that can carry weight--take it with us. We'll haul it all back to our camp."
As they continued to walk through the camp, the soldiers were still finishing off any remaining enemies who were too wounded to move. The sight of the destruction left Wolfram in a state of shock. He hadn't expected their small force to decimate such a large and well-equipped army. The scale of their success--and the brutality with which they had achieved it--left him feeling uneasy.
Kara, sensing Wolfram's unease, placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "This is the reality of war, Wolfram. We fought, we won, and now we take what we can. Don't let the scale of it unsettle you. We did what we had to do."
Wolfram nodded, though the weight of the victory still hung heavy on his mind. As the sun climbed higher into the sky, casting its light over the battlefield, the two warriors continued to prepare for the next phase of their journey, knowing that this was only the beginning.