[color=goldenrod][i]And may these sinners be granted eternal life, should death prove due penance.[/i][/color]

He had counted Paladin Tyaethe's swift advance as enough acknowledgement of his idea, following closely behind himself. While she was assisting Sir Jarde, the younger knight had busied himself with mopping up what remnants tried to break off the from the front and flee— a pair of skirmishers who liked their chances of getting past him better than they did as prisoners of the Iron Rose.

Swiping down with a sharp, chopping motion, Gerard rid most of the blood from his blade as he returned to the group proper, eyeing the prisoners the knights had taken before glancing back over his shoulder to the felled pair further up.

[color=goldenrod][i]They did not stand down when I gave them the opportunity.[/i][/color]

It was unfortunate, but wishing their souls' absolution was all the mercy he could have afforded them. They had resolved to keep fighting, and he had orders and cause to let none escape. While sparing someone was a virtuous act, there were limits before it became a ruinous one. This... would have been crossing those. No way out. The Iron Rose stood for Justice and Mercy. When Mercy was not taken, the hammer of Justice fell.

No time was then for deliberation, and no time was now for doubt.

This was how things were. Spare those who are willing to be spared, swiftly deal with those who were not and render them no threat to yourself, your own, or your protectorate.

Now then, for checkups after battle. He remembered the order of operation that had been drilled into him for a warfighter's attending to needs— Horse, Harness, Man.

"Horse" was simple in this case— Quite literally just a horse, but in the terms of the mantra it referred to one's method of travel. Had they been in a caravan, for instance, or using a wagon, the knights would first want to ensure their mobility was not hampered. Gerard, luckily, found nothing along those lines— his Rouncey had been trained well, neither spooking nor running off and getting himself injured in the melee that had ensued.

[color=goldenrod]"Glad you're safe, my friend."[/color]

Onto "Harness". His gear. The sword had made it through unscathed, and only needed more thorough cleaning— which he set to work on as he retrieved a rag from his saddle. As for the rest of him, he had come out of the fight unscathed, luckily enough. They were untrained warriors, true, but that the lone bolt from the trees had buried itself in his pauldron as opposed to his neck was fortunate indeed. A firm yank tore it free, leaving a slightly warped hole in the metal. He would need it repaired after this, but for now...

Raising, rotating, and swinging the arm in a wide circle, he was satisfied that it did not alter his range of motion all too much. He could swing his sword just fine.

"Man", then. Was he well?

A bit of pain on the aforementioned shoulder, likely no more than bruising. His thudding heart had calmed, his breath had fully returned to him. He could think, he could speak, he could fight. He expected to be no less capable in any of these before or after a culling of untrained bandits such as this. Nothing from the skirmish would affect him in the main battle.

He was ready, then. He met the passing gaze of yet another of his fellows, Sir Jerel, who seemed to be lost as to what they were expected to do next. For Gerard, it was simply answered.

[color=goldenrod]"Onwards, I imagine."[/color]

[@jdh97]