Han and Hale led the army as they continued to retreat, and their pace did not slow down even after they had crossed the main battlefield because the danger had not truly passed yet.
The remaining human army moved forward in a long and broken formation, and every step they took carried exhaustion, pain, and loss. Smoke still lingered in the distance, and the faint echoes of battle followed them like a shadow that refused to fade.
Han walked at the front, and his armor was covered in dust and dried blood while his grip on his weapon remained firm. Hale moved beside him, and although his posture was steady, the fatigue in his eyes could not be hidden.
For a while, neither of them spoke, but the silence eventually broke.
"That guy," Han muttered after a long pause, and he let out a breath while shaking his head.
Hale glanced at him and nodded faintly.
"Yeah."
Han rubbed his face and looked ahead at the retreating soldiers who were barely holding themselves together.
