From the other sides of the city, horns echoed low, mournful notes that cut through the night. The surviving Vikings were pulling back. At the front gate, Skarn's battered group finally disengaged. To the south, Eldric's group stood bloodied but unbroken, watching their foes retreat step by step into the dark.
The captains, weapons still slick with blood, stood at the forest's edge. No one lowered their guard.
"They're… leaving?" one goblin soldier muttered.
"Looks like it," another answered, spitting onto the dirt, his knuckles still white around his sword.
For the first time, they had survived against more than just soldiers and Knights. Tonight, they had proven themselves.
And though their bodies ached and their wounds burned, victory's weight settled over them like a heavy cloak.
They had won.
...
