Eloi stood atop the hill in silence, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield below.

  It was a wasteland.

  The ground was no longer earth but a grotesque mosaic of crimson mud and dark green corpses. Human bodies lay scattered among the goblins, fewer in number yet painfully visible to anyone who knew where to look. Medics moved like ants between the fallen, while recovery teams stripped weapons from the dead and dragged goblin corpses into growing piles that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  Eloi’s heart felt heavy.

  This had only been the first battle.

  And already, he could see the cracks forming.

  He hadn’t received the official casualty report yet, but experience told him the truth wouldn’t be gentle. The losses likely weren’t catastrophic—but they were enough. Enough to shake morale. Enough to plant fear. Enough to make men hesitate the next time the horns sounded.

  What worried him most wasn’t the dead.

  It was the living.

  He had seen it with his own eyes: the trembling hands, the thousand-yard stares, the momentary panics when goblins breached the line. The beginnings of a rout—not from cowardice, but from exhaustion.

  Five hours.

  They had fought for five continuous hours.

  Even now, part of Eloi’s mind insisted it had only been twenty minutes. Time had warped under the relentless pressure of endless green bodies crashing against steel and flesh.

  “Ah… this is going to be a headache,” Eloi muttered.

  Footsteps approached from behind, steady and unhurried. He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

  “Eloi,” a familiar voice said lightly. “You look like you’re trying to glare the battlefield into fixing itself.”

  Eloi sighed and glanced over his shoulder. “And you look far too relaxed for someone standing on a hill of corpses, Selvijs.”

  Selvijs Pencis grinned, hands tucked casually into his belt as he surveyed the carnage below. The Latvian vice-commander looked as calm as ever, as though this were merely another troublesome drill gone wrong.

  “You’ve always been a worrier,” Selvijs said. “Just like back at the academy.”

  Eloi snorted. “And you’ve always been infuriatingly calm.”

  They went back decades—back to the United European Military School. Spain and Latvia. Fire and water. Eloi had been sharp-tongued, short-tempered, and aggressive. Selvijs had been laid-back, observant, and maddeningly patient.

  No one had expected them to work well together.

  They had been wrong.

  Together, they balanced each other. Together, they had risen.

  Eloi rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly. “All right. Since you asked. Let me list my problems.”

  Selvijs made a show of bracing himself. “I’m listening.”

  “First,” Eloi said, gesturing toward the battlefield, “the bodies.”

  Selvijs followed his gaze.

  Thousands upon thousands of goblin corpses lay strewn across the field, piled in grotesque mounds where recovery teams had already begun dragging them together. The green wasn’t grass—it was darker, uglier. The color of decay waiting to happen.

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  “We can’t leave them,” Eloi continued. “If they rot, disease will spread. But we can’t bury them either. One meter down and we hit solid rock in this cursed place. Burning them isn’t an option—there’s not enough wood, and we certainly don’t have fuel to spare.”

  He paused, irritation creeping into his voice. “We didn’t have this problem before. Skirmishes, small numbers. But this—this is obscene.”

  Selvijs waited until Eloi finished before responding.

  “Pile them,” he said simply. “One massive mound. Far from camp. Then we stay at least ten kilometers away from it.”

  Eloi stared at him for a long moment.

  “…You’re right,” he admitted, slumping slightly. “Crude, but practical.”

  “War rarely gives us elegant solutions.”

  Eloi nodded, then straightened. “Second problem. Casualties. What do the preliminary reports say?”

  Selvijs’ expression grew more serious.

  “Three thousand dead,” he said. “Mostly from the breaches—when the goblins jumped the line.”

  Eloi closed his eyes briefly.

  “Twenty thousand heavily wounded,” Selvijs continued. “Six months minimum recovery. Most will need to be sent back to the heartland for surgery.”

  He hesitated, then added quietly, “Some officers suggested it might be… easier… to simply end it for them.”

  Eloi’s eyes snapped open.

  “No,” he said sharply. “Absolutely not. If they can be restored to fighting condition, they will be. We need every life we can save.”

  His voice hardened. “Just because we have multiple lives does not mean we get careless with them. That kind of thinking is dangerous.”

  Selvijs nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

  “Lightly wounded?”

  “Sixty thousand,” Selvijs replied. “Mostly cuts and exhaustion. They’ll be fit again within a week.”

  Eloi exhaled slowly. “And the goblins?”

  Selvijs grimaced. “Harder to say. Estimates put the dead at around one million. Injured… unknown. Thousands at least.”

  Eloi let out a long breath he felt he’d been holding all day.

  “One million,” he murmured.

  The sun was sinking now, painting the sky in deep reds and purples that felt far too appropriate.

  “All right,” Eloi said finally. “Pile the goblin corpses far from camp. Ask the other legions how they’re handling disposal—coordinate if possible. Issue orders: one and a half days of relaxed regulations. No alcohol.”

  Selvijs opened his mouth.

  “No alcohol,” Eloi repeated flatly.

  “…Cruel,” Selvijs muttered.

  “And inform the captains,” Eloi continued, “that I am not pleased with the state of the legion. They’ll rest—but discipline will tighten afterward.”

  He turned away, already pulling a slate from his pack. “I need to write my report to Central Command. That’s all.”

  Selvijs snapped a crisp salute. “Yes, Commander.”

  As he hurried off to relay the orders, the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across a battlefield that would haunt the dreams of every survivor who had stood upon it.

  Eloi remained on the hill a while longer.

  Tomorrow, the war would continue.

  And next time, the goblins might not retreat so easily.