"Now then... If the honorable lords of the Beastman Confederation have screamed enough for one day, I believe we have a lot to discuss."
Skarn's snarl hadn't died and Rajah's claws were still out, but Quinlan had already moved past the pair of them, the crimson fire behind his visor sweeping the field in a slow, measured arc.
The dwarves sat in clusters under guard, their war chief's laughter long since swallowed by the tension that had replaced it.
Their king was not even among the prisoners but frozen in the Villain's ice as a motionless memento of their defeat.
Their main army was shattered. Whatever holdouts remained in their mountain halls or scattered across the alliance, lords and garrisons who wouldn't open their gates upon receiving the news, that was cleanup, not war.
He wouldn't even need to show up, just send his souls or allies.
The elves were worse.
Rows upon rows of elven soldiers stared at him with wide eyes.
