Chapter 342: The aftermath
The victory was theirs.
They had killed every last one of the hive creatures that had swarmed the mountains. More than a million and a half drones and thirty-five hive warriors whose power could rival that of High Champions were defeated. The battlefield was won, but there were no cheers, no triumphant cries of celebration. Instead, a heavy silence hung over the scene, broken only by the labored breathing of exhausted soldiers.
Massive amounts of Origin Force surged into the Soul Dimensions of every man and woman who had fought on that battlefield, a powerful reward for their hard-fought victory. Yet, the energy coursing through their bodies did little to combat the overwhelming exhaustion. They had pushed themselves to their absolute limits, and now, they were barely holding on, their bodies trembling from the effort of staying conscious.
Grand Marshal Anglius, towering over the battlefield like a golden colossus, took a deep breath to steady himself. His body felt heavy from the toll of battle, as he had pushed himself harder than he believed to be possible. Never in his life had he fought for so long and faced such overhwlemgin pressure as when facing the hive.
"Everyone, sit in your positions. Those who are wounded call for help, and the healers will come to you. The rest, rest for an hour before we begin the cleanup." The golden giant’s words echoed across the batteries. He understood the soldiers were just as tired as him, and while there were still many things left, they needed to rest first.
A wave of relief swept over the soldiers. They had been standing through sheer willpower, and now they finally allowed themselves to sit, their armor clattering as they dropped to the ground. The battlefield, once filled with the chaotic sounds of war, now seemed to exhale, taking in a moment of stillness.
There were thousands of wounded soldiers, most of whom would recover thanks to their innate vitality and the healing potions they carried. But there were also those whose injuries were too severe and who needed urgent medical attention. The soldiers of the Golden Wave Legion moved quickly, tending to their comrades and prioritizing the most critical cases.
One Turkin soldier lay on the ground, his abdomen torn open by the vicious claw of a hive warrior. His intestines were exposed, and his breathing was shallow. His comrades surrounded him, their faces pale with helplessness. In the old world, such a wound would have meant certain death on the battlefield.
A Golden Wave Legion healer appeared beside them, his expression calm yet resolute. The Turkin soldiers exchanged uncertain glances—what could a healer possibly do for such grievous injuries?
"Hold him tight!" the healer commanded with firm authority. Though skeptical, the Turkin soldiers obeyed, gently holding their comrade in place.