The bomb obliterated the Iron Brotherhood's survivors, its violet-black explosion shaking the Blightroot estate's courtyard. The ground caved into a smoldering crater, charred limbs and molten armor fragments scattered, and no trace of the enemy left.
The battle was over, and the 7th Division emerged victorious, but at a cost—ten members dead, their bodies bloodied, skulls crushed, or guts spilled across the cobblestones. The air reeked of iron and charred flesh, the estate's marble stained with crimson pools.
Some division members stared at Baines, their eyes a mix of awe and unease. If it wasn't obvious before, it was now. Baines was the strongest in their division.
Rakel Voss, his golden hair matted with sweat, barked orders. "Heal the injured! Gather the dead! Third chair, take twenty and sweep the estate for stragglers. Meet us in the hall in an hour." He turned and nodded at Baines. "Good job."
Baines sheathed his sword, silent, and his eyes unreadable.
