Two of the knights were driving an uncovered wagon as they followed Tom. Four knights carefully placed Albert’s body into the wagon. Desmond sat in there too after Tom kindly suggested to Desmond to do so. Another knight with a repeating crossbow stood at the end of the wagon looking at the battlefield. Desmond didn’t look at Albert’s corpse. He didn’t look at anything. There was only a blank, defeated expression. The knight peered over at Desmond and silently understood this feeling.

  Tom sat next to the driver and looked back at Desmond with concern. The driver gave Vul’Goth’s canteen to Tom. He had a look of pity and sorrow for Desmond. Tom took out a rag to clean Light Wielder. He brought an empty sheath with him and placed Light Wielder in it. He made an inquisitive sigh when he noticed that Light Wielder stopped glowing blue. He looked back and noticed a faint blue light from Desmond’s hand. The light was like the glint of a diamond barely peeking out of a rock. Tom scratched his chin curiously taking note of this.

  Before the wagon left, the robed man talked to Tom for a bit about the Prince and the battle. Tom patted the robed man on his shoulder and bid him farewell. The robed man was in maroon robes with a gold sash tied around his waist along with a small leather pouch. The man kept his hood on. He was a clean shaven man with no eyebrows. His pointy chin and gaunt face made him look as if he was on the verge of death, or as if he was the grim reaper under a thin layer of skin. He had pale and nearly translucent skin, which didn’t help the skeleton-like appearance. The robed man had kind, brown eyes as he gave an apologetic and wrinkly smile to Desmond. Desmond gave a nod as the wagon began to move. He wondered who this man was and why all the knights listened to him.

  The reinforcements arrived as the wagon was slowly moving through the battlefield. There were some reserve units and some of the medical personnel walking through the battlefield collecting the dead or the severely wounded and dying men. Sadly, there were barely any left on the battlefield that were still alive. Empty wagons and carts were being filled with the dead humans. Squires were walking around with mules hauling empty carts as they filled it with the weapons left on the ground. Some of the squires sat on the carts crying unable to deal with the dead.

  Groups of men were tossing and rolling orc bodies into the ditch-like crater from Earth Breaker and pulling out the human bodies. They were using it as a makeshift burn pit for the orc bodies. The rest of the reinforcements came in to help clean up once they fully arrived. It was slow, sobering, methodical work cleaning up the battlefield.

  The dead humans were taken away to a mass-grave that was being dug just to the western side of the army camp. There were groups of men with quills, tables, and books writing down the names of the fallen men if they still had their small name plates hanging from their necks. If they didn’t have a name plate or couldn’t be identified outright, then they were piled on the side of the mass-grave for later identification. Some men were taking the armor off the dead men and organizing the pieces into separate piles next to the grave. A handful of clerics and priests were burning incense and chanting prayers to the various gods around the grave. There were also small groups of the gunners, reserve footmen, and archers crying next to the grave as well.

  One crestfallen major was struggling with naming off his company’s full roster to one of the men with a notebook and a stack of name plates. An injured private on crutches was blaming himself for not being in the battle because his entire company was in the mass grave. A deflated gunner was being consoled by two footmen because he found his brother’s name plate.

  A handful of young, recently certified, Class-3 mages sat on a small hill overlooking the mass grave taking in cost of the battle. A grizzled, grey bearded knight in black armor was giving them a lecture about the cost of duty and the importance of teamwork. None of the mages paid attention for they were distraught from the mass grave.

  Desmond took a quick look at all of this feeling overwhelmed by sadness. All the courage and strength in his eyes disappeared into a dull, empty white. He looked back down in the wagon not wanting to see the dead anymore. He noticed that his right palm had a dim light emitting from it. Desmond was rather perplexed, but figured it had something to do with when he picked up Light Wielder. However, he was still unsure as to why it was happening. He put his hand down and looked at Albert’s corpse feeling a crashing wave of remorse.

  He took a small rag from his pocket and wiped the blood from Albert’s mouth and chin. The knight in the back noticed this action and gave a silent nod. Desmond looked at the rear of the wagon seeing the rest of the carnage being cleaned up. A wave of guilt cascaded over him as he did his best to hold it in. He silently whimpered in anguish as he covered his face hiding it in his arms and knees. The knight holding the repeating crossbow gave Desmond a handkerchief to cry into as he too looked away from the dead.

  "Never easy," the knight sighed.

  "Yeah."

  As the wagon rode into camp, the rest of the reserves and reinforcements stood on the edge of the pathway as the wagon was passing through. All the faces were in awe, shock, or sadness as they saw the dead body of their Prince pass by. The wagon stopped by the medical tents to let Desmond out. A doctor and two nurses covered in bloody gowns were waiting for him. The doctor told him to follow and give his name plate to him.

  Desmond walked after the doctor like a ghost and obliged. All the color in him vanished and all that was left was a gaunt paleness covered with flecks of blood and dirt. The wagon drove onward as one medical cleric hopped in. The cleric began emitting a yellow light from his hands whilst chanting something ancient.

  Desmond saw this before going in and looked puzzled. The doctor told him bluntly, “He’s preserving the corpse for future burial. Come.”

  The medical tent was a packed and horrid sight. There were many wounded footmen and knights screaming and groaning in pain. Most of the wounded were missing limbs, shot with crossbow bolts, burned, or had their guts slashed open. There were dead bodies being taken out like an efficient conveyor belt. There was also the agonizing screaming of emergency surgeries that were happening behind curtains. There were some medical clerics trying to perform magic to heal wounds; however, there was not enough of the clerics to help everyone.

  Desmond's bloodied breastplate was taken away by a nurse along with his torn gambeson and padded shirt. The doctor sighed tiredly as a handful of the nurses helping him gave a gasp. They noted all of his old wounds from past battles and the fresh bruising on his lean torso.

  Once all his armor was removed, he was no longer a strong an experienced footman. He was reduced down to his true self: a badly scarred, bruised, sweat and blood stained young man who was broken in mind and spirit.

  Desmond paid the medical staff no mind upon seeing their reactions to his body. One nurse wiped her eyes and quickly walked away for a moment. Another took her place and began to take notes on the wounds and his past medical history. Desmond unemotionally explained his old battle wounds and his past military tours. She noted in a joking way how he was an experienced soldier despite being so young. He did not respond. The doctor nudged the nurse to stop joking and to get back to work.

  No one really talked to Desmond. Not even the doctor helping to fix his broken ribs and cuts said anything of meaning whilst he stitched up a scar on Desmond’s arm. A nurse was gently cleaning the scars and scrapes on Desmond’s arms and hands. Another on his chest and back. A third was gently washing his face noting the healed scar on his eye and fresh cut across the bridge of his nose. Desmond remained silent, lost in empty thoughts.

  Most of the medical staff just looked at him with awe and a solemn understanding at what he just went through. Murmurs about him being the only survivor from the blasts thus far was all Desmond partially overheard. He paid them no mind. He didn't care. All he wanted in that moment was to be left alone for a while.

  He heard the crying and screaming from some of the wounded as they were being helped. The screams were bothering him tremendously. His mind kept replaying the sight of Johnathan and the army getting killed in the blast form Earth Breaker in his head. He tried to turn his mind off, but to no avail.

  He asked the doctor helping him where the bathing tubs were. The doctor looked at Desmond surprised and slightly off put by how empty Desmond’s voice was.

  The doctor asked, “Bathing tubs?”

  “Yes… I want just want a bath.”

  “Okay,” the doctor replied quietly.

  The doctor pointed outside and to the right of the tent with a curious frown. Desmond got up and walked over to them thanking the doctor and handful of nurses.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  One of the younger nurses told the doctor, “He wants some space. Let’s give him that. Plus, he’ll wash away the grime from his wounds anyway. We can finish bandaging him up then… Poor lad.”

  “Right,” said the doctor tiredly as he quickly wiped his hands with a towel. “Tell me in five minutes to go see him again. Also tell the others to stop gawking at him and focus on the other patients! I don’t need any lovestruck nurses with impure fantasies here.”

  “Bill… Relax. It’s just ‘window shopping’ is all. Not our fault that he’s rather cute and well-muscled. Plus I dig scars,” the nurse replied sassily.

  The doctor sighed and immediately went to see on another patient. He murmured to himself disgruntled, “Rox… Please be a better example to the other nurses, please! We have work to do!”

  There was a wooden platform under a large, canvas tent with 30 large, wooden tubs filled with warm water with a small bench next to each one. Bright crystals and gas lanterns shined in the tent. There were hot coals burning underneath each tub dug into the ground. The muffled noise from the medical tents seemed to reverberate in the tent. No one else, but Desmond was in this tent.

  Desmond gently took off his bloodied and sweat stained pants and the rest of his leg armor. He sat in one of the tubs as a young nurse quickly walked by to collect Desmond’s armor and clothes for washing. She mentioned that the doctor will come see him soon. Desmond unemotionally thanked her as he sat in the tub. He washed himself slowly wincing in pain as he moved his torso slightly forward.

  He washed away all the dirt from him along with the blood that stained his arms, legs, hair, chest, and face. A very long and diagonal scar ran along his chest down to his left ribs. His lean-muscled body was a jagged mess of cuts and bruises, looking as if the wounds were a permanent reminder of the everlasting effects of war.

  Once he was done with his face and hair, he dunked his head into the water with his back to the bottom of the wooden tub. The muffled, but loud screams from the medical tents were bothering him more and more. The screams would not leave him. He wanted all of it to stop. He wanted the pain to stop. He wanted to scream as loud as he could to drown out everything. The endless horror of the battle, Johnathan’s death, the Prince’s death, Earth Breaker, the failed charge of the light calvary, everything echoed and screamed wildly in his head.

  He yelled painfully with all the remaining power he had left in him under the water. All the physical pain, all the emotional pain, and all mental pain he tried to yell out of himself.

  He pulled his head out and sat still for a few minutes contemplating everything that had just happened. He sighed painfully and finished washing himself.

  Once clean, Desmond put on a white linen shirt, underwear, and a pair brown trousers that was given to him from one of the nurses. The clothes were placed on a chair next to the tub along with a fresh towel and a pair of leather sandals. The doctor came out and wrapped his ribs and finished bandaging a few cuts along with sewing up a two scars on his shoulders. Desmond thanked the doctor once he was bandaged and good to leave.

  Two of the younger nurses took a quick peek at Desmond as he brushed his hair back from his face and walked away. Both sighed happily at Desmond.

  Rox, the most experienced, sighed happily as well taking a moment to admire.

  The doctor said loudly, “For the love of – get back to work!”

  “Relax, Bill. Just admiring and feeling empathy.”

  “Rox! You’re supposed to be the example to them not… Get back to work! Everyone! We have men dying, remember?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Come on! You’re needed as well,” Rox said grabbing the doctor by the shoulder. “Next one has stomach lacerations and burnt stumps on his left leg from the knee down. Cleric can’t do much, but he’s hanging in there. Need a blood transfusion. Doc Aramis patched him up temporarily but is occupied with a seizing patient. I’ll grab the hose and clamps. Tell nurse Jynx to get the ether and morphine. GO!”

  “Right!”

  Desmond began to walk back to his tent slowly. All the other footmen, archers, gunners, and knights stood out of his way as he walked to his tent. He was like a ghost that all could see as he walked through the camp. There were murmurings about Desmond that he overheard. Same as the gossip he heard in the medical tent. He paid no attention to them.

  As the sun was setting, Desmond walked by the large group tent that him and ten other men used to share. All of their personal belongings were still there on their cots. He did not walk into the tent. He stared at how empty it all was. He thought of how he and the others lived with, shared stories with, and laughed with were just gone. Men he fought with and cried with. Men who were like a secondary family of ruffians and hardened scoundrels. All of them were gone. Only empty cots remained. They were now just fading memories for Desmond.

  He looked solemnly at Johnathan’s cot just across from Desmond’s right at the entrance of the tent. He remembered all the dumb jokes Johnathan would say and all the stupid impressions he would do. Now, it was an empty cot with a worn out wool blanket and a leather backpack on it.

  Desmond walked past the tent in a silent melancholy. He tried to cry, but nothing would come out. He thought to himself, “I can’t cry or feel anything right now… Why?”

  He slowly went back down towards the stream where the aster flowers were. They were still a bright, purple haze as the stream flowed on by like nothing had happen. The soft, green grass swayed in the breeze. The cackle of the stream from the rocks were still there. There were fire flies out and about now. They were creating a mini light show in the dark as the sunset gave a pink hew to the sky.

  What once brought him peace felt like nothing to him and it bothered bother him immensely.

  Desmond stared blankly at the fireflies and flowers wanting to feel anything from looking them. He desperately wanted that feeling of wonder and curiosity he had earlier that day. Sadly, no feelings came to him.

  He laid on his back looking at the beautiful, pink hue of the sunset fighting off the dark skies as the sun was setting. Desmond closed his eyes. He wanted to forget everything that had happened today. What once brought him peace and solitude now left him alone with his raging thoughts. Thoughts that refused to leave.

  Everything that had happened recently, came at Desmond’s mind like a rain of endless arrows. The agonizing screams of pain, the haunting sound of flesh being slashed into, and the deafening blast from Earth Breaker ringed loudly over and over in Desmond’s head like a tea kettle whistling violently. Everything kept raging on in his mind until it all just stopped suddenly.

  Silence.

  Emptiness.

  Desmond found himself alone in an empty, dark void watching the spirits of his fallen comrades and fellow footmen and knights walk by him with a bright, blue tint. Johnathan and Albert walked by Desmond; both were smiling at him. Both were still in their armor, but their armor was clean and polished along with the rest of the spirits. There was a horse with harness that Albert was holding onto the reins next to him. Johnathan gave a thumbs up with a goofy smile as he joined the other spirits into walking directly into a blinding, rectangle of light. It looked like a massive stadium archway far off in the dark void, or so Desmond thought.

  Albert stood still as he looked at Desmond proudly. His helmet was by his side. His short, jet black hair shined subtly with blue. His green eyes were still a piercing, bright green, though it was the only color on him outside of the tint of blue all over him. His smile was warm and his demeanor was that of a proud older brother. For a split second, Desmond smiled only to immediately tear up upon seeing Albert.

  Albert said softly to Desmond, “The Light is with you now. Take care of it and yourself, okay? She will help you… You’re their light. Inspire them… That is your true duty from here on. Do what’s right because it’s right. No fear in the face of evil. Light up the darkness and rid evil of the world. You won’t fight it alone… Others will aid you soon… Thank you, Sir Desmond Rollo… Thank you… Farewell and good luck, soldier. I’m counting on you.”

  Albert pointed at Desmond’s right hand. The hand glowed bright blue and Albert smiled. He then nodded to Desmond as he too walked along with the rest of the spirits. The horse nudged its head on Albert’s head playfully. Albert responded by patting the horse in return. Albert, the horse, and the rest of the spirits disappeared. Albert stopped just as every other spirit walked by him. He was watching all of them go before him as if he was keeping a mental count on all of them. He turned around one last time to look at Desmond. He gave a thumbs up and walked into the blinding light.

  Desmond’s eyes welled up as he was unable to utter a word. He tried to reach out his hand, but it refused to move from his side. Desmond found himself alone in the dark void with only his hand glowing in the darkness as if his hand was a torch.

  In the far off distance, there was a blurry, feminine figure that appeared to be in a flowy dress waving at Desmond happily. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he waved hesitantly back at the figure in response. The light in his hand shined brightly for a second only to suddenly flash and the figure was gone. Desmond was alone in the void once again. The only thing he heard was his soft, confused, and broken whimpering. For a brief moment, Desmond felt as if someone was patting him on the back from a tender hug that he felt.

  He finally opened his teary eyes. He stared at the dark skies slowly covering the pink hue of the sunset. In his right hand, he was holding onto Johnathan’s locket. He held it up as his hand glowed dimly underneath the locket. He felt as if he had to do something important. He felt conflicted with himself because he felt conflicted about being the only one alive it seemed. He also felt a warm presence that seemed to be near him at all times. He wondered to himself what all this meant and what he just saw. He pondered what the Prince’s words meant about the “light.” He also pondered why he felt as if he was not alone with himself at all times; as if someone or something was with him possibly lying next to him.

  He closed his fist and thought to himself aloud, “I’ll try.”