Cheers of victory swept across the entire dock like a rising tide.
The Makon Alliance soldiers tossed their caps into the air, embraced one another, and shouted the names of the Alliance and the Governor in voices trembling with excitement, celebrating this hard-won, almost miraculous victory.
Yes, even the usually reserved Governor Almeida could not help smiling in relief. He shook hands firmly with the officers and mage advisor beside him, his taut nerves finally relaxing for a moment.
Relief at having survived filled the hearts of every colonial soldier.
Most of the surviving players were also caught up in the joy of winning the event.
They excitedly traded stories of the battle, compared contribution scores, checked the rewards they might receive, or gathered around the two "Dragon's Breath" flamethrowers that had proved so decisive, marveling at them and discussing how to use them more effectively in the next battle.
On the whole, the victors were in a jubilant, celebratory mood.
Yet amid all this rejoicing, Not Playing If I'm Not Having Fun gradually fell silent.
Once his initial excitement faded, a cold sense of reality swiftly gripped his heart. He instinctively looked around, his gaze passing over the players' delighted faces as he silently counted them.
A thousand... There had been over a thousand players when we arrived. They had traveled together aboard the transports. Though there had been complaints and resentment along the way, morale had generally been decent. They had all looked forward to fighting the snake-men.
But now?
They had lost forty or fifty people in the clash with the dock guards.
That had been infuriating, but still within acceptable limits. After all, the players had fought back against fully armed soldiers with their bare hands-and won.
But the defensive battle that followed... especially the snake-men's