Little Knife had indeed reported only the good news. After the encounter, the Mountain Tiger Warband he led had lost the ability to advance any farther.
Not only was every surviving player wounded, but the bodies of the fallen players were scattered all over the mountains. They lay everywhere, in obscure corners and secluded valleys alike.
The surviving players had tasted the joy of victory and seized a wealth of Bohemian equipment and military merit, but those who had died in battle could not simply be abandoned.
Still, all the survivors were wounded. Asking them to climb mountains and carry bodies back was a bit much, so this was where the prisoners of war came in handy.
Little Knife and the others put players in charge as overseers, driving the disarmed prisoners to search for bodies. It was a long, tedious, tiresome task.
But the Bohemian prisoners did not find it boring. They found it terrifying.
"Huff, huff..."
Philip's leather boots sank deep into the snow beneath his blue padded coat, each step producing a teeth-grating crunch. He gazed at the snow-covered ravine ahead, his breath condensing into white frost in the twenty-below air.
Half an hour earlier, that madman in the wolf-head hat had pointed a Flintlock at his temple and ordered him into this godforsaken place to find "our brothers' bodies."
"Get moving. I'll be watching you from behind. Try slacking off and I'll kill you."
Snow had fallen over these mountain woods that morning. There had not been much, but it was just enough to lay a thin blanket over the ground, burying the traces of last night's slaughter.
Philip stood on tiptoe and looked around for a while, spotting numerous small snow mounds that looked as though they concealed bodies.
How brutal had last night's