The spoils of battle and the cleanup
The other recruits murmured their assent, their initial frustration giving way to grudging acceptance. They had done what they were supposed to, with minimal damage, they might add, but overall, it was a success they could be happy about.
Gresvin surveyed the aftermath of the battle, well, at least what he could see, thanks to the dim moonlight cascading over the lands. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of blood. Relief washed over him, a wave so powerful it nearly brought him to his knees.
"Marcus," Gresvin rasped, his throat parched. "See to the wounded. Arlo, gather what supplies we can salvage from the bandits. The rest of you, help the villagers return home and then let's clean up the battlefield."
The recruits nodded with exhaustion and quickly moved. The faster they could finish, the earlier they could rest. Even the lanky recruit, despite a nasty gash on his arm, helped where he could.