The Battle Continues & Gresvin's Situation

Silence descended upon the battlefield, broken only by the ragged gasps of the fighters and the whimpering moans of the fallen bandits. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood, the acrid sting of sweat, and the thick fog of adrenaline slowly dissipating.

Marcus, his chest heaving with exertion, stood amidst the carnage. His falx, slick with blood, hung limply in his hand. He looked around at the fallen bandits – a grim tableau painted in the flickering candlelight.

The red-haired recruit approached him, his falx sword dripping crimson. His face, streaked with grime and sweat, bore the marks of the battle – a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. "We did it," he rasped, his voice hoarse.