The once tranquil winter landscape was transformed into a chilly reminder of the horror and carnage that can result from violent conflict after prolonged fights.
The delicate sheen of frost that had once blanketed the ground was now marred and disrupted, and the violent dance of combat had churned it into a muddy mixture of slush and earth.
The recent footprints, a chaotic pattern of aimless imprints, silently witnessed the frantic movements during their fight.
The lifeless bodies of the four Frantian soldiers were scattered across the snowy landscape. Their once-vibrant lives had been extinguished in the unforgiving dance of survival that they were engaged in.
Each was a stark silhouette against the pure white of the snow, serving as a reminder of the quick and ruthless nature of the world.
Erik looked over the bodies of his four fellow citizens of Frant, all of whom were originally from the same city, New Alexandria. Still, he had decided to pledge their allegiance to the nation of Frant. However, even though he observed their lifeless forms lying in the snow, he did not experience any pang of sorrow nor any knot of regret in his stomach.
These were not the faces of people who had been dear friends or acquaintances since childhood. These soldiers were dedicated to a man he despised, serving a nation that he had grown to hate with all of his being.
They wore the emblem of Frant, which had come to represent oppression, deceit, and betrayal to him. They were his enemies.
Despite sharing the same birthplace, there was a chasm of difference between them that ran deeper than any river and wider than any ocean.
Erik had witnessed firsthand the atrocities committed in the name of strength, and he had seen what Frant and New Alexandria had done to those less fortunate.
The sounds and images and his recollections of what he had been forced to go through had etched a profound and seething hatred into his heart. Malice that obliterated any trace of shared beginnings or common roots.
When he looked at them, he noticed that their eyes were blank, and they were staring into the snowy expanse. This caused his jaw to tighten.
They were a representation of the country and the city that he once considered to be his home. A city that was not a symbol of safety and prosperity but rather one of corruption and cruelty.
A nation that had ceased acting as a protector and perhaps never did so in the first place.
They were victims of a cruel and unforgiving world, caught in a conflict that did nothing but feed Frant's appetite for more and more power and wealth.
Amid his hatred and resentment, though, Erik realized that they, too, were victims in their unique way. But he saved his compassion for his allies, those who stood with him, and those who had endured loss and pain comparable to his own.
As an adversary, he only had his resentment and determination to continue the fight. For Erik, they represented the nation that he despised so much, and the fact that they were destroyed was a victory for him.
Erik's eyes darted across the quiet battlefield as he surveyed the situation. The snow had lost its pure white color and became tainted with the dark red color of blood.
Before the battle, the trees had moved gracefully in the wind, but now they stood still, their branches bearing the scars of the intense conflict.
The wrath that had been let loose was harshly brought to mind by the shattered bark, broken branches, and spent mana arrows and bolts that littered the landscape.
The normally soothing sounds of nature were absent, replaced with an oppressive hush. The air itself appeared to be holding its breath.
It appeared as though time had stopped, as the passage of each second seemed to drag on forever as the group came together. Only the sound of their breaths could be heard in the eerie stillness as the rest of the world observed a respectful silence in memory of those who had passed away.
Despite the bleak circumstances, the group felt a strong sense of relief. They were alive and well. They had fought against well-trained soldiers but emerged victorious from the conflict.
Erik averted his eyes from the gruesome scene of his slain adversaries and focused on his allies instead. As she investigated her surroundings, Alexia was taken into the scene with sharp, alert green eyes.
He looked at her and politely nodded in her direction before continuing. "Seems we're safe for now," he announced, carrying the quiet authority they'd come to rely on.
The experienced tracker, Garrett, had already begun to make his way toward the lifeless form of Lieutenant Emily Wilson. The man knelt, his skilled hands deftly removing the longsword from the soldier's grip.
He looked closer at the blade, made of a silvery material that shone in the dim light.
The low, rumbling tone of Garrett's voice reverberated throughout the empty clearing as he held Emily's longsword in his hands. "This is good quality. It's made of a material that's highly conductive to mana," Erik declared, his experienced eyes studying the weapon with a mixture of admiration and a hint of envy.
In Liberty Watch Village, they had always been limited from obtaining the same resources available to Frant. Mana-conductive material was a luxury they could seldom afford, let alone craft weapons from it.
While Marcus was tending to her injury, Ava spoke up, and the tone of her voice had a lighthearted quality to it. As Marcus wrapped the bandage more tightly around her arm, she joked, "Lucky you, Garrett," while feigning a slight twinge of pain.
Her eyes sparkled with playful humor despite the pain that she was in. "At long last, a sophisticated weapon to match your ferocious fighting prowess!" she sarcastically said.
Her words sparked a brief moment of fun, which reminded them all that, despite the harsh reality they were facing, moments of camaraderie and lighthearted banter were essential for maintaining their morale.
Even when faced with the most trying circumstances, they had to keep their positive attitude and maintain a strong bond.
After her example, Erik and Alexia went through the soldiers' supplies in search of anything useful or valuable to take with them. In this cruel world, the spoils of their victories were not a luxury but a necessity for them to survive.
In the meantime, Marcus continued to care for Ava. The fearless adventurer put on a brave front and treated her injury like nothing but a scratch.
However, Marcus was not willing to take any chances. Even though he was such a large man, his large hands were surprisingly gentle as they cleaned and bandaged the wound.
Marcus was working on Ava's arm, and even though she insisted it was not that bad, she couldn't help but wince as he did so.
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