But Godwyn was wrong.
When the prince returned to the battlefield, both sides had already ceased fighting.
Under somewhat absurd circumstances, the war could be considered over.
Because, at the Fell God of Fire's direction, the remaining Fire Giants had... fucking surrendered!
The battered behemoths lay prostrate in neat rows in the snow, facing the Golden Alliance Army.
On the alliance's side, however, the atmosphere was rather strange.
The most disgruntled was Hoarah Loux, who "hadn't had enough fighting."
He glared at the giants who had abandoned resistance, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body brimming with reluctance.
He paced back and forth, his gaze sweeping between the surrendered giants and the cauldron still smoking in the distance, seemingly considering whether to keep tearing apart the "scrap" before him that had given up resisting, or simply charge over and overturn that cauldron.
For a while, the situation was extremely tense. The surrendered giants trembled, and the alliance soldiers tightened their grips on their weapons, unsure whether this fellow would suddenly fly into a rage.
Fortunately, Horace began soothing his big brother just then.
He knew his big brother all too well.
Saying anything to him at a time like this would be like talking to a brick wall, and might even backfire.
What Hoarah Loux needed now was not reason, but a sufficiently substantial "punching bag."
Horace walked expressionlessly over to a Siege Catapult. The giants had originally used this thing to launch burning boulders.
He looked up, checked the wind direction and the direction of some faint, muffled roars in the distance, then nodded to the few dumbstruck soldiers beside him and pointed at Hoarah Loux, who was still radiating an oppressive air of discontent.
The soldiers were still utterly bewildered: ?
Horace offered no explanation. He walked