The day dragged on like a funeral march.
Within the walls, soldiers moved through the carnage with grim efficiency. Collecting their dead. Burning Orc corpses. Clearing rubble. The mountain of bodies—green and human alike—was slowly dismantled, piece by bloody piece.
The air reeked of smoke and death.
Inside the central command tent, the silence was suffocating.
Mikhail sat slumped at the strategy table, staring at nothing. His armor was still bloodied. His hands rested on the table, motionless.
Beside him, Maria and Miyako stood like sentinels—silent, watchful, protective.
Across from him, Queen Yuehua and her generals stood frozen, barely daring to breathe. None of them spoke. None of them moved.
Mikhail's eyes were distant, empty, seeing something far beyond the tent walls.
One of the Eldrathian generals shifted uncomfortably. He cleared his throat, tentative—
Maria's gaze snapped to him like a blade.
The general went pale and froze.
The silence stretched.
Miyako's hand settled gently on Mikhail's shoulder.
He blinked. Focused. Looked up at her, then around the tent as if just realizing where he was.
"Ah... yes?"
Queen Yuehua stepped forward carefully, her voice soft, respectful.
"My Lord... we have prepared the battle report."
Mikhail nodded once. His voice was flat, drained.
"Go ahead."
One of the generals unrolled a scroll, his hands trembling slightly as he read:
"From five hundred Bloodfrost warriors... three hundred eighty-seven remain."
A pause.
"From eighty thousand Eldrathian soldiers... fifty thousand remain."
Another pause. The general's voice wavered.
"From seven hundred Imperial Knights... four hundred thirty-two remain."
A longer pause. He swallowed hard.
"From twenty-seven Golden Pike mercenaries... only eight remain."
The numbers hung in the air like ghosts.
Thirty thousand Eldrathian dead.
Two hundred sixty-eight Imperial Knights dead.
One hundred thirteen Bloodfrost warriors dead.
Nineteen Golden Pike mercenaries dead.
The cost of victory, written in blood.
Queen Yuehua's voice was thick with emotion.
"My Lord... this victory was only possible because of you and the Empire." She bowed deeply. "We are forever in your debt. And in Bloodfrost's debt as well."
Mikhail shook his head slowly, his expression hollow.
"No. Don't concern yourself with debts." His voice was quiet but firm. "Use your wealth and resources to rebuild your kingdom. The rest... the Empire will handle."
The generals gasped, exchanging shocked glances.
"My Lord," one of them breathed, "we will be forever grateful to the Empire—"
"This is the second time you have done such a great favor for our kingdom," the Queen said, her voice breaking slightly. "We are ready to do anything you ask of us, my Lord. Anything at all."
Mikhail's jaw tightened.
He let out a bitter, humorless laugh.
"Anything, you say?" His eyes were cold, dead. "Unless any of you can bring my Vice Commander back from the dead..." He turned his gaze away. "You can leave."
The words hit like a slap.
The Queen and her generals bowed frantically, murmuring apologies, and fled the tent in a hurry.
The silence returned.
Heavier than before.
Miyako's hand remained on his shoulder. She said nothing.
There was nothing to say.
A few minutes passed.
The tent flap opened again. A group of Bloodfrost warriors entered, their armor still stained with battle, their expressions solemn. They bowed as one.
"My Lord," their leader spoke, voice rough and tired. "We have decided to leave at first light. We wish to bury our fallen brothers in the mountains of Bloodfrost, as is our way."
Mikhail straightened slightly, forcing himself to focus. He nodded.
"Yes. I understand." His voice softened. "I thank you all, personally. For everything you've done."
The warrior shook his head.
"No, my Lord. In our culture, dying in battle is the highest honor. None of us fear death."
A faint smile touched Mikhail's lips—sad, but genuine.
"I respect that, warriors." He reached into his coat and withdrew a heavy pouch of gold, offering it. "But I wish to offer what little I can spare, for your courage in battle."
The warrior bowed but didn't take the pouch.
"I apologize, honored Prince. But Prince Thulgar would kill us all if we accepted payment for doing our duty."
Mikhail let out a short, genuine laugh—the first real sound of life from him since Hilowat's death. He sighed deeply, shaking his head.
"Brother Thulgar and his damned rules." He smiled. "I respect that. Tell him I send my regards. And that we will meet again."
The warriors bowed deeply and departed.
The tent was quiet again.
Mikhail's smile faded. The weight settled back onto his shoulders.
He turned to Maria.
"Maria."
She stepped forward immediately, hands folded, attentive.
"Go to the Golden Pike. Keep eyes on Maximus." His voice went cold. "If he tries to flee... make sure he never sees sunlight again."
Maria bowed, her expression unreadable.
"Understood, my Lord."
She turned and glided from the tent without a sound.
Miyako remained.
Just the two of them now.
She moved around the table, standing in front of him. Her hand found his cheek, turning his face gently toward hers.
His eyes were hollow, exhausted, grieving.
She said nothing.
She just stood there, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm.