"Kill... kill..."

  With the appearance of the Blood Banner, the war became even more intense. The Crimson Knights continued to dominate the battlefield, and the noble alliance, realizing there was no retreat, suddenly erupted with a fierce determination.

  Although the serf armies were weak in combat, they had one advantage: they were obedient. As long as the nobles led the charge, they would follow.

  Perhaps it was blind obedience, perhaps loyalty, or perhaps the concept of "desertion" simply didn't exist in their minds.

  After all, the means of production were controlled by the nobles, and their families depended entirely on the noble lords for survival. Even if they wanted to flee, where could they go?

  The "atmosphere" was highly contagious. When everyone around was fighting desperately, no one could avoid being swept up in the frenzy.

  Even Hudson, the "scking knight," was now commanding his troops to counterattack. Although he still wasn't on the front lines, he was at least contributing to the war effort.

  As time passed, more and more noble private armies arrived on the battlefield, and the tide of war gradually began to shift.

  On the high ptform, an elderly man in gray robes coldly observed the battle and said indifferently, "The nobles of the southeastern province are arriving one after another. It seems we won't be able to annihite the Crimson Knights today.

  By my estimate, we're nearing our limit. Let's leave these cannon fodder to keep the enemy occupied and withdraw our forces."

  Though his tone was calm, the old man's words were filled with frustration. They had finally lured the enemy out of their fortress, but their own strength was insufficient to deliver the final blow.

  There was no other choice. Compared to the long-established noble factions that ruled this nd, the Skull Society was still too weak.

  The gap between them was vast. While it seemed like the rebels were holding their own against the noble alliance on the battlefield, the reality was that they were suffering several times the casualties.

  This was only possible because of the "Blood Moon Horn." Under normal circumstances, the ragtag rebel army wouldn't have been able to withstand a single charge from the Crimson Knights.

  The reason they had held out this long was entirely due to the Blood Moon Horn, which had taken control of the rebel soldiers' nerves, turning them into mindless killing machines.

  But an evil artifact was still an evil artifact. Turning people into killing machines came with strict limitations. Not only did it require the use of drugs beforehand, but it also had severe side effects.

  Forcing one's potential to its limits couldn't st forever. Once the body reached its breaking point, it would colpse.

  Even the person who activated the Blood Moon Horn had to bear the artifact's backsh.

  The once-strong man who had blown the horn had turned into a white-haired old man in an instant. If he had deyed any longer, he would have been reduced to a pile of bones.

  Though he was still alive, he might as well have been dead. His life force had been drained, and the evil energy that had invaded his body was too much for him to withstand.

  This wasn't unique to the Blood Moon Horn. All divine artifacts on the continent of Ystnd required a price to be paid for their use. It was just that the Blood Moon Horn demanded a heavier toll.

  If not for these limitations, the Blood Moon Cult would have unified the continent three hundred years ago, and the Skull Society would never have had a chance to rise.

  As the Skull Society's leadership withdrew, the sound of the horn faded from the battlefield. The once-bloodthirsty rebel soldiers, now regaining their senses, colpsed one after another.

  "The battle is won!"

  Yet no one showed any joy on their faces. Everyone knew this was only the beginning. Without capturing the Skull Society's leadership, the rebels would inevitably return.

  After tallying the casualties, Hudson's expression turned grim. Even though he had kept his troops on the fringes of the battle, they had still suffered heavy losses.

  "Forty-seven dead, nine missing, thirteen severely wounded, and twenty-six lightly wounded." For a force of just over five hundred, this was a devastating blow.

  Compared to others, the Coslow family had fared retively well. The rest of the noble alliance had suffered even more grievous losses.

  For the alliance, the number of serf soldiers lost no longer mattered. What was truly concerning was the heavy casualties among the noble knights.

  As the bravest and fastest to charge into battle, they had naturally borne the brunt of the enemy's fiercest attacks.

  When the alliance members regrouped, none of them looked their usual selves. Their once-gleaming armor was now stained with blood, and each of them radiated an intimidating aura of killing intent.

  Hudson noticed that many familiar faces were missing. Inwardly, he couldn't help but feel relieved that he had pyed it safe. If he had joined the charge earlier, he might have ended up as just another corpse on the battlefield.

  "Recklessness really does get you killed faster."

  Though he secretly scorned the reckless, Hudson maintained a somber expression like everyone else. With so many comrades fallen, it would be inhuman not to show some grief.

  "Let's split up and search for the bodies. If any retainers survived, let them take their lords' remains home. If not, we'll arrange for someone to escort them back," said Chelse, his voice heavy with sorrow.

  As the nominal leader of the alliance, the weight of such heavy casualties fell squarely on his shoulders. Chelse couldn't help but feel frustrated. As the leader, he had gained no benefits but was now burdened with this mess.

  With so many dead, an expnation had to be given. If he didn't handle the aftermath properly, the backsh from the noble families would drown him in criticism.

  Handling the aftermath wasn't just about collecting the bodies. He also had to ensure that the fallen allies' contributions were recognized.

  Although these families would now be preoccupied with succession and unable to participate in the upcoming nd disputes, they still needed to be compensated in some way.

  In theory, following the rules would suffice, but adults knew that rules were enforced by people. Without someone to advocate for them, any promised compensation would be a mere joke.

  While others could avoid this responsibility, Chelse had to step up. Otherwise, how could he maintain his authority as the leader?

  A noble's reputation was everything. For the sake of his family's honor, Chelse had no choice but to take on this burden.

  Of course, every situation had its silver lining. If he handled this well, Chelse's reputation among the nobility would soar.

  Hudson and the others nodded in agreement, accepting Chelse's proposal.

  After all, they were all part of the noble circle, and appearances mattered. As allies, they were willing to lend a hand in collecting the bodies—a small gesture that cost them little.

  However, this assistance was limited to the noble lords themselves. The bodies of ordinary soldiers were of no concern.

  According to continental customs, the bodies of fallen nobles would be returned home for burial if possible. As for the ordinary soldiers, their fate depended on the circumstances.

  Given the heavy casualties of today's battle, it was clear that no one would spare a thought for the common soldiers. With corpses strewn across the battlefield, the best solution was to set them abze.