While an ambush was hardly an unsound strategy, one thing became abundantly clear: These were not the veterans they had been told of. Whether it be due to some exaggeration on part of the reports, or simply due to the fact that the veterans were not part of this ambush, remained to be seen. Fanilly suspected the later. Carrying an injured man left Sir Rickert vulnerable, thus she had elected to keep close to him, in a position in which she could relay orders as well as ensure both Sir Rickert and the old man's safety. Morianne's spell had worked its way through the bandit forces, leaving many wavering and unsteady, and making rash decisions that ended their lives. By this point, a few had thrown down their weapons and fallen to their knees from the combined stress of battle and the magic working its way through their minds. Not to mention the far more physically painful magic that had left at least four bandits twitching and smoking on the ground. The Knight-Captain had already assessed the battle likely won, a short and brutal skirmish that left the ambushing force in tatters. But that didn't mean she could simply relax. It wasn't over, even if the conclusion was becoming clearer by the moment. She couldn't stop, she couldn't simply accept her knights would be safe. Even one serious injury in this skirmish was a mark of failure as Knight-Captain in her mind. A sign of unworth. It was perhaps her own doubts and fears, and desire to keep a watch on the battlefield, that she only barely caught sight of the shortsword-wielding bandit who lunged for her and Rickert. She had sparred plenty of times. The motions were ingrained in her mind now, so even in that instant as the axe fell, her body did not hesitate. Fanilly's blade cut through the air, and met the bandit's sword, the clash of metal on metal ringing through the night and yet drowned in the noise of combat. "Knight-Captain!" she heard Sir Rickert's voice behind her as she adjusted her grip, her eyes narrowing. His efforts had to be spent protecting the injured man, not trying to assist her. He was already unable to fight properly, attempting to do both would be far more dangerous. The bandit's momentum was a weapon against him. Guiding his blade to the side, Fanilly forced it wide, causing him to stumble with a gasp. Her sword was coming back up. Under the arm. The neck. The chest, if a clear blow can be struck. The head of a helmetless foe. The locations in which an immediately lethal blow can be struck. Even if death wasn't instant, it would come quickly. From this angle, his neck was most exposed. This blow would kill him. With it, she would be ending a man's life. A human being's life. He- The armor he wore. The colors he wore. She realized now that the bandit was clad in a pilfered chestplate from a soldier of Thaln. He had stolen from a dead soldier in order to facilitate robbery and murder. Fanilly's heart hardened. Her blade flashed, and parted the flesh of his throat, a crimson line carved into the man's neck and opening wider. He twisted, letting out a gurgling sound, before falling to the ground with a thud. The next came easier. His leather chestplate didn't defend him well enough from a swift thrust, his axe falling from his grip as the tip pierced his heart. He hit the ground moments later. Fanilly inhaled deeply, her sword lowered to her side as Sir Rickert reached the other knights, drawing his blade to rejoin the fight. But there was little fight to rejoin, now. Bandits lay dead or dying, strewn across the ground. Some were incapacitated, by fear, lightning, or nonlethal injury. Her knights had not allowed a single one to flee. The bandit camp was likely not completely unprepared, but if any of these men had escaped their task would have become far more difficult. The blood dripped from the edge of Fanilly's sword. Her heart was hammering, but she took another deep breath to try and ease her nerves. This was hardly even the first step. "Thank the goddesses..." she said aloud, her free hand clutched to the rose on her breast. Now, it was time to address her knights. "Ease the suffering of the dying," she ordered. The Iron Rose Knights were knights of justice and mercy. To leave an enemy to die in agony could not be permitted, if they could help it, "Bind any survivors and take them prisoner. If they have any information, do your best to extract it from them." The mental state of whatever bandits remained alive would hopefully make getting information from them easier. "We have little time to lose, so Dame Cecilia, Sir Hope," she addressed her chosen scouts, "As soon as you are able, your orders remain." [@Raineh Daze][@Rune_Alchemist][@Psyker Landshark][@Pyromania99][@HereComesTheSnow][@Saiyan][@The Otter][@Crimson Paladin][@ERode][@Psychic Loser][@Richard Horthy][@Aeolian][@Rin]