The long, seemingly endless night finally came to an end, and at last, faint morning sunlight crept over the ridges of the mountains surrounding the basin.
The front lines, which had once spiraled into a desperate situation, were now completely stabilized by dawn. The soldiers of the Sigismund territory had managed to drive the monsters entirely out of their land.
Monster corpses were strewn everywhere.
Some of the surviving Lycanslopes were busy fleeing with their tails between their legs, while the soldiers, having regained their composure, roamed about, hunting down any Lycanslopes that still clung to life.
“It’s the grace of the Main God—how else could this be….”
Sir Ilma, finally able to catch her breath, murmured as she gazed up at the reddening sky.
And why not? The number of Lycanslopes that had attacked the territory was roughly 1,500. Yet, of those, only a few hundred had managed to escape unscathed over the mountain ridges.
In contrast, the damage to the Sigismund territory was surprisingly minimal. Considering that at one point, they had feared total annihilation, this outcome was truly hard to believe.
“There may be localized skirmishes for a while, but at least, there won’t be another all-out battle like yesterday.”
As she quietly watched the retreating Lycanslopes, Sir Sebastian approached her from behind and spoke.
“Shouldn’t we pursue them?”
“We don’t have the resources for that. It’s hard enough to keep up with the Schnischher, and Lycanslopes are faster than most cavalry.”
The captain of the guard slowly wrapped his arms around Ilma’s shoulders and continued.
“There’s no need to rush, Ilma. For now, let’s regroup the exhausted soldiers. How about you…