Heavy Casualties

"Kill... kill..."

With the Blood-colored Battle Flag raised, the war grew even fiercer. The Crimson Knights continued slaughtering their way across the battlefield, while the Noble Allied Forces, realizing there was no way out, suddenly erupted as well.

Though the Serf Army lacked combat strength, it had one advantage: obedience. As long as the noble lords led the charge and fought at the front, they would follow.

Perhaps out of blind obedience, perhaps out of loyalty, or perhaps because the concept of a "deserter" simply did not exist in their minds.

After all, the means of production were all controlled by the noble lords, and their entire families depended on the noble landlords for survival. Even if they wanted to flee, where could they possibly run?

"Atmosphere" had the greatest influence on people. When everyone around them was fighting with all their might, no one could avoid being swept up in it.

Even Hudson, the knight who had been slacking off, now commanded his troops in a counterattack. Though he still did not charge on the front line, he had at least contributed to the war.

Second by second, more and more private noble forces arrived on the battlefield, and the scales of war gradually began to tip.

From atop the platform, the Grey-robed Elder, who had watched the battle coldly, said indifferently, "The nobles of Southeast Province are arriving one after another. It seems we won't be able to keep the Crimson Knights here today.

"Judging by the time, we are almost at the limit. Leave these cannon fodder to play with the enemy slowly. Have our people withdraw first!"

Beneath his seemingly calm tone lay a great deal of unwillingness. They had gone to great lengths to lure the enemy out of the fortress, only to find themselves too weak to swallow them whole.

There was no helping it. Compared to the noble faction that had ruled this land for so long, the Skull Society was still far too weak.

The gap was present in every aspect. Though they seemed evenly matched with the Noble Allied Forces on the battlefield, the price they paid was several times the casualties.

That was with the boost of the Blood Moon Horn. Under normal circumstances, the Rebel Army—a rabble—could not withstand even a single charge from the Crimson Knights.

The only reason they had held on until now was that the Blood Moon Horn had controlled the rebel soldiers' minds, turning them into machines that knew only slaughter.

But an evil artifact was ultimately an evil artifact. Turning people into killing machines came with conditions and limits. Not only did it require drugs beforehand, but it also carried severe side effects.

Forcibly drawing out a person's potential was destined not to last. Once the limit of what the body could endure was reached, it would collapse.

Even the person activating the Blood Moon Horn had to endure the backlash of the evil artifact.

He had been a burly man just moments ago, but after sounding the Blood Moon Horn, he had become a white-haired old man. If they delayed any longer, there would probably be nothing left but a pile of bones.

Though he seemed alive, he was effectively dead. With so much life force devoured and evil energy invading his body, it simply could not endure.

It was not just the Blood Moon Horn. Every sacred artifact on the Aslant Continent exacted a price when forcibly activated; the Blood Moon Horn merely demanded more life than most.

If not for so many restrictions, the Blood Moon Cult would have unified the continent three hundred years ago. The Skull Society would never have had the chance to emerge.

As the higher-ups of the Skull Society withdrew, the horn's sound vanished from the battlefield. Once the bloodthirsty rebel soldiers regained their senses, they collapsed one after another across the battlefield.

"The war is won!"

Yet there was no joy on anyone's face. Everyone knew this was only the beginning. Since they had failed to keep the Skull Society's higher-ups, the Rebel Army would return someday.

After tallying the casualties, Hudson's face turned terrifyingly grim. Though he had kept his troops moving along the edge of the battlefield, they had still suffered heavy losses.

"Forty-seven dead, nine missing, thirteen seriously wounded, and twenty-six lightly wounded." For a force of just over five hundred men, this was a crippling blow.

Relatively speaking, the Coslo Family had fared fairly well. The other noble forces that had come with them had suffered truly devastating casualties.

For the alliance, the losses among the Serf Army no longer mattered. The key issue was the appalling casualties among the noble knights.

As the bravest and fastest-charging forces on the battlefield, they had naturally taken the fiercest beating.

When the alliance members gathered once more, none of them looked presentable. Their once-bright armor had long been stained red with blood, and each of them radiated a chilling killing intent.

More than half of the familiar faces were gone. That was Hudson's most immediate impression. Deep down, he could not help secretly celebrating that he had played it safe. If he had charged with them earlier, he might have become a corpse on the battlefield as well.

Reckless fools really do die fast!

Though he despised them inwardly, Hudson wore the same expression as everyone else. So many comrades had died at once—if he did not show grief, could he still be called human?

"Everyone, split up and search around. Help gather the bodies. If any retainers survived, let them take the bodies home. If not, arrange for someone to see them off."

Chers spoke in a low mood.

With casualties this severe, he naturally faced tremendous pressure as the alliance's nominal leader. The more Chers thought about it, the more depressed he became. As the leader, he had not gained a single benefit, yet trouble had already come knocking.

With so many dead, an explanation had to be given. If he failed to handle his allies' funeral arrangements properly, their spittle alone could drown him.

The aftermath involved more than simply gathering the bodies. He also had to secure the military merit owed to his allies.

Although these families would have to replace their heads and lacked the strength to take part in the coming struggle for territory, they still had to obtain some resource compensation.

In theory, they only needed to follow the rules. But every adult knew that systems were carried out by people. Without someone fighting for them, so-called compensation was nothing more than a joke.

Others could hide, but Chers had to step forward. Otherwise, how could he, as leader, convince anyone to follow him?

A noble's reputation was worth more than the sky. For the sake of his family's name, Chers could only force himself onward.

Of course, everything had two sides. Though these problems were troublesome, if handled well, Chers's prestige among the nobles would rise greatly.

Hudson and the others all nodded, tacitly approving Chers's proposal.

They all moved in noble circles, and they still cared about appearances. They had been allies, after all. Gathering the bodies was a small effort, and everyone was willing to lend a hand.

However, that help extended only to the nobles themselves. No one paid any attention to the ordinary soldiers who had died.

By continental custom, if a fallen noble's body could be returned intact, it would be sent home for burial. As for ordinary soldiers, that depended on the circumstances.

Without question, with casualties so severe in today's battle, there was no way to attend to the ordinary soldiers. Corpses covered the mountains and fields; the best choice was to settle it with a single fire.