The enemy began to notice. Fear crept into their eyes as they realized the tide wasn't just turning, it was devouring them whole.
"Fall back!" a Sengolio officer shouted, voice breaking.
The retreat started slow, then surged like a dam breaking. Soldiers dropped their weapons, banners crumpled, and the noble crest that once flew proudly now dragged through the mud as their line collapsed.
Lumberling watched them scatter, his chest heaving from the fight. Skitz licked blood from his dagger, eyes still hungry. "Should we chase them, my Lord?"
"No." Lumberling's spoke. "We've made our point. Let them run back and tell their masters what they faced."
He lowered his spear, gazing over the battlefield littered with corpses, his soldiers regrouping in tight ranks behind him. Relief flickered through their faces.
The quiet after the storm pressed heavy, broken only by the groans of the dying.
