By the time the Blood Wolf Banner that represented Ragash vanished from the valley, the war was already over. Even the dark clouds overhead stopped churning. Clearly, the evil power lurking in the shadows had also lost patience and mercilessly abandoned the minions who worshipped it.
Soon, sunlight pierced the gaps in the clouds, turning a fleeing cave troll to stone on the spot. The more agile Half-orcs had scattered with the Wargs as soon as their position became untenable.
They had been an army assembled from numerous tribes. With a distinctive banner directing them, they could naturally gather and accomplish things together. But today, that banner had fallen first, and the commander who gave them confidence had vanished without a trace. Their collapse was inevitable.
The Dwarf infantry who had only just entered the battlefield were racing everywhere, hunting down the enemies they had faced for years-the Half-orcs fleeing in all directions.
Now, the entire valley rang with nothing but the roars of Dwarves and the dying screams of Half-orcs.
Amid the din, Allen finished assigning his subordinates their postbattle duties and began searching the crowd for his old friend, the Dwarf king who had left him no choice but to come.
"Bofur, take Óin and search the battlefield. Tend to the wounded first, but find every one of our fallen people as well. Their courage and loyalty deserve a grand funeral."
"Kili, I need you to bring the sheep back. There is too much here that we need their help with."
"Glóin, take some men and gather the warriors. Today's battle is over. Don't let anger lead to any mishaps."
Watching the three turn and leave with their orders, an exhausted Thorin let out a deep breath and contemplated the battlefield strewn with corpses.
Thorin felt far more