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"Back," she said. Not a route. A decision. "Back in the third line. Roof on. Captains count the fallen sisters."
The order moved like water. Almost a hundred of her women died before that decision — a hundred is too many for her and also fewer than male vice general could have managed in a day like this. The rest —nine hundred and something and change— stepped away from the mountain with discipline that would have made any wall-maker proud.
The male elites on both flanks did what pride does when it finds out it bleeds: some charged alone and died; many were already past caring about orders. Few captains fled with less than ten people. The drones didn't chase them. Kai's word was a shape in their heads: no pursuit. They let backs be backs and kept their teeth for the next mouthful.
