The farther they advanced in the direction of the Indigenous Coalition's rout, the more the traces of war began to change.
Instead of dense piles of corpses and scorched earth, they saw more baggage abandoned in flight, damaged vehicles, and scattered personal belongings.
A canteen, a tattered doll, a letter trampled into the mud—these small things spoke more silently of the defeated army's panic and despair than any gruesome corpse.
Now and then, small groups of routed soldiers were captured by legion patrols. Ragged and hollow-eyed, they were chained together and driven toward temporary prisoner-of-war camps in the rear. Their will to resist seemed to have been utterly destroyed in the final collapse.
The sky remained overcast, as though it, too, could not bear to look upon the ravaged land.
The outline of inland Brunn Continent was already visible on the distant horizon.
It was no longer as desolate as the Weeping Blood Plain. More green vegetation appeared, along with the silhouettes of distant mountains.
But Duke knew the peace was an illusion.
The remnants of the routed Indigenous Coalition were surely regrouping there, trying to build a new defensive line.
And the Allied Legion would not stop its advance here. More battles lay ahead.
He glanced back at the vast plain they had left behind, where faint black smoke still curled upward. It was like a huge, newly formed scar stretching across the edge of Brunn Continent.
After crossing the great scar of the Weeping Blood Plain, the Allied Legion's vanguard met no serious resistance.
The remnants of the routed coalition seemed to have lost all courage and ability to organize a defensive line in the open. They retreated inland without pause.
Before long, the outline of a city appeared on the horizon.
It was no mighty fortress with