The battle was surprisingly short. Everything was over within just a few hours. Though the evening was rapidly approaching, there was still a bit of daylight left by the time it subsided. It gave the light cavalry an opportunity to pursue some of the fleeing enemies through the nearby countryside, but some would doubtlessly get away.

  It wouldn’t matter in the long run. The war was over. Charles was dead and his rebellion died with him. Varre had faced enemies from within an without. From the East and the West. And he came out the victor in the end.

  Fortunately, the army was already at the capital. The news of the king’s triumph was quickly spreading through the city and it was just a matter of time until the rumors spread to the furthest corners of the nation. But before celebrations could begin, there was still plenty of work to be done here.

  The fighting may have died down, but for some, the real battle was about to begin. Healers assigned to the army, along with fresh volunteers from the city, worked tirelessly to save as many lives as possible.

  The knights were doing much better at this front. They wore expensive armors and complicated protection underneath to maximize their chances of survival. On top of that, they typically fought while enhanced. Their skin was tougher than normally possible and the wounds received shallower. These men would be easier to save, yet they were prioritized.

  This was the nature of things in Logres. All human kingdoms in this world, in fact. Nobility was simply seen as more valuable than commoners. No one wanted to risk having an important aristocrat bleed to death while they wasted their time patching up some peasant.

  There were exceptions of course. Few rules were absolutely ironclad. The son of a wealthy merchant could have perhaps afforded his own medical care. Sometimes beyond what even a knight could expect. Or a member of the king’s personal entourage would be prioritized above minor aristocrats. Steward Marna was born a commoner after all, but no one would dare to complain if her wounds were attended to before some unknown noble.

  Peasants were saved for the end. Especially those on Charles’ side. Varre’s order to care for them in the first place was extraordinarily generous, but everyone still treated the prisoners as worse off. At least subconsciously. Even though these serfs had no say in coming here, it took a lot of mental effort to stop seeing them as the enemy.

  These people made up the bulk of the casualties. They couldn’t afford proper equipment. They lacked the years of training that each knight possessed. They couldn’t enhance themselves. Worst of all, during the rout, the cavalry had no qualms about trampling them under hoof or stabbing them with spears while chasing them down. At least nobles were given the opportunity to surrender first.

  Had Varre known about this, he could have influenced this decision. Most of the knights were lightly injured and proper triage could have saved dozens of commoners. But he had bigger fish to fry and no one warned him about this precedent.

  After he had negotiated the surrender of the last rebels, he worked closely with Jan, dealing with the aftermath of the battle. With the stress over, the count was quickly returning to his usual, serious self.

  “I saw Charles fall with my own eyes. Do you know what happened to him afterwards?” the king asked.

  “I sent some of the first healers to deal with him,” Jan explained, “but his wounds were too grievous. He was already unconscious and beyond help.”

  Varre only grunted in response. Unsure of what to say.

  “It’s better this way,” the count reassured him, “either way, you’d need to execute him.”

  “Yeah. And in the center of town,” the king stared off at the walls of the capital, “like a tyrant that he accused me of being.”

  Jan shrugged. “It would be a show of force. The monarch righteously punishing his enemies…”

  Varre slightly frowned. “This battle had shown off more than enough strength. I defeated him in a single, decisive battle. Right at the doorstep to the capital.”

  “News will spread quickly,” the count agreed, “you defeated Clement and avenged Mikkel’s murder. You stopped an invasion from Langogne. And now, you killed a pretender who attempted to take the throne while the country was weakened and in chaos. A true hero.”

  The king remained unconvinced. “We both know that wasn’t a real invasion. Just some last ditch attempt to rescue their independence movement.”

  “That’s not how most people will see it. But what do I know,” Jan smiled, “you’ve got people for dealing with stuff like this.”

  Again, Varre refused to answer.

  “Anyway. I think this victory deserves something else,” the count stepped back and bowed deeply, “congratulations, your majesty.”

  The king watched him and popped a smile as well. Hearing the full title from Jan’s lips was a rare occurrence. Befitting the occasion.

  “It sure took a while didn’t it?” Varre awkwardly scratched the back of his neck.

  “It’s only been two months since we marched out of Westbridge,” the count protested, “if you consider that to be a failure, than I’d love to see what you consider a successful campaign!”

  “Well, when you put it that way…”

  Jan shook his hand, stopping his monarch. “There’s no need to be shy. You’ve earned it. You defeated three separate armies in less time than it takes to siege the average castle. This was nothing short of a total, resounding, extraordinary success. And I’m proud to have been a part of it.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “I suppose I do need to be playing that up a little more,” Varre admitted.

  “Good. You still have time to write your speeches.”

  Soon, the men returned to their work. There was still so much to be done. The king managed to avoid dealing with the aftermath of his victory over Langogne, but he was exhausted back then. Even more mentally than physically. Now, he was far fresher and could devote himself to his duties.

  Most of the captives had been secured by now, but the cavalry kept bringing new prisoners every so often. Knights came willingly. They understood that the war was over and resisting would only get them in further trouble.

  Peasants though were more hesitant. They didn’t expect good treatment from Varre, regardless of what his people told them. They weren’t especially trustful of nobles, especially those who had just bested them in battle, killing their friends and families in the process. This sentiment would change over time, once they got a chance to experience decent treatment on their own skin, but for now, they were willing to risk punishment and attempt to escape.

  Loyalist soldiers busied themselves securing the prisoners. Injured ones had to be sent to the healers, and of course watched carefully the entire time, while the healthy ones would have to be grouped up. The most rebellious ones were tied up, but this was unnecessary. Even if the king had ordered it, his men would struggle to find enough rope for thousands of people. They’d need to scour the city looking for more.

  Some of the troops were instead gathering back into formations. Their sergeants, or in the case of their death, higher ranking officers, needed to count everyone to figure out the casualties. This process would take a while, but as soon as a unit was accounted for, the troopers could return to their duties.

  The battlefield too needed to be cleaned. The rebels left thousands of weapons scattered across the ground. Many of the drafted peasants had only brought shoddy, rusty equipment, but some of it was decent. It was valuable. And even the worst pieces of gear were made of expensive iron that could be melted down.

  Normally, looting the battlefield after the combat was a privilege. Drafted soldiers weren’t paid, so an opportunity to scavenge was one of the only opportunities for profit they had. But it carried risks. The soldiers could brawl over the best pieces and occasionally even murder each other. Since Varre’s men all received high salaries, Jan decided that all of the equipment was to be gathered up and sold in bulk by the army. Petty theft was still possible of course, but with so many troopers working together, nicking a dagger or two would be the absolute most anyone could pull off.

  A far less pleasurable task was cleaning up the bodies. Hundreds still covered the ground. There weren’t a lot of dangerous predators this close to the capital, but the corpses would still poison the soil. Good agricultural land. And that’s without mentioning the disrespect it showed. Such acts could anger the very gods.

  No, the bodies needed to be properly buried and cared for. Only the most brutal, vile warlord dared to desecrate enemy corpses. Carrying them to the capital though would not only cause a huge scene in the streets, but would overwhelm the city’s cemeteries. Instead, a new military graveyard was prepared by the forest, just Northwest of the capital. Some of the soldiers were deployed there, digging up soil already.

  Corpses of knights would be returned to their families. Each noble brought a whole team of servants and assistants, many of whom stayed out of combat and survived their liege’s passing. They received the bodies and could make the proper arrangements. Either taking them to the city, all expenses covered by Varre, or return them to their homes, depending of course on what their house preferred.

  This meant that the first casualty reports were made concerning the cavalry. The loyalists lost thirty five knights today. Over half of them fell in the center, during the fierce fighting around the banners. Gregory’s flank lost around ten, while Khoman merely five. The right side especially got off easy, as the cavalry never engaged in prolonged combat. The nobility only charged and countercharged the enemy horsemen, losing a few men in accidents.

  Another eighty or so light cavalry and assistants perished alongside their masters. They weren’t as well trained, equipped, or armored. Even though they weren’t as willing to throw themselves into the thick of combat, they sustained more casualties overall.

  The infantry reports took far longer to calculate. Varre had to wait until nightfall, when torches were brought out to light the battlefield and help the men finish up their tasks.

  The loyalists lost six hundred footmen in this battle. Just as they had while defeating Langogne. Though no one was used as sacrificial pawn this time, merely buying time for the main force to strike, the fighting was a lot fiercer. The battle South of Banbury was a series of decisive strikes that quickly powered through the enemy. This was a brawl.

  At least the enemy’s casualties were only slightly worse. They lost around nine hundred. The fighting was roughly even, but more were slain while attempting to escape. One and a half thousand were captured. Everyone on the right flank, many of the men facing Gregory, and some of the peasants who surrendered while fleeing. As of this evening, around six hundred more were still missing, hiding in the nearby forests.

  Knights, again, were easier to count. Fortunately the loyalists had excellent data here. The nobility proudly wore their banners and loudly announced their presence at every step. Even if there was no way for anyone on Varre’s side to recognize every flag from a distance, interrogating the captured aristocrats provided a long, detailed list of rebels. The monarch now knew exactly who supported Charles, who died in the battle, and who managed to get away.

  Of course, with little to lose, some of the captives lied about the missing people. With the fighting over, and every participant of the rebellion liable to get punished in some way, it was easy to lie. Some entrepreneurial nobles said that their house’s enemies were staunch supporters of Charles who merely managed to get away. With any luck, the crown would come down on them, and punish them accordingly. But by corroborating evidence, such claims could be rejected. And any future punishments would need to involve some fact fighting missions and investigations first.

  Regardless, it seemed that the casualties on both the left and right flanks were roughly even to the loyalists. The fighting was straight forward and the quantities of soldiers similar. Technically, without the support of their infantry, the cavalry sallying out of the hedgehog struggled to recover the men who fell of their horses, but that only resulted in additional captives, not dead.

  The real discrepancy was in the center. Not only was Charles up against the elite Royal Knights here, but he also had to contend with the mages. Expensive armor helped, changing many lethal wounds to treatable ones, but the differences added up. Especially during the counterattack to recover the banner. Though it was effective and it could have turned the entire battle around, it came at a heavy cost. Many men needlessly died.

  All in all, sixty knights perished here, compared to Varre’s twenty. And a few of those were Royal Guards. In total, the rebels lost seventy five aristocrats, compared to the king’s thirty five. Then, nearly two hundred light horsemen. Their strategy was risky and when it failed, the price paid, heavy.

  Two hundred rebel nobles managed to get away, scurrying around the nearby villages. Some would be found over the coming days and join the prisoners, but many would make it all the way home. The long arm of the law would come for them eventually, but that would be a problem for tomorrow.

  Now, with the day over and the sun long since set, it was time to return to the capital for a long, well deserved rest. Everyone was too tired to celebrate today, but tomorrow, the victors would have their chance to shine.

  Obviously, in sheer numbers, but proportionally as well.