The battle at Kraba Market had ended. More than a thousand Gray Wolf Soldiers laid down their weapons and, with hands atop their heads, left the shelter.
Their faces were ash-stained, their expressions downcast, most with fresh wounds yet to scab over, and their dust-covered eyes lacked any hint of light.
If they had lost to the Alliance, they might have taken some consolation, but facing these militiamen who couldn't even scrounge together a single intact outfit filled their hearts with nothing but shame.
The militiamen drove them from the northern side of Kraba Market to the east, forming a long line at the entrance of the market.
The onlooking survivors from a distance all simultaneously wore looks of disbelief upon their faces.
"...His Majesty's army actually lost."
"That's the undefeated Gray Wolf..."
"And they lost to the Moon people, no less."
In fact, it wasn't just the Moon people.
