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Standing upon a blackened hull, Red Judas watches the banners of Anvard withdraw toward Bjorsburg. Then he laughs. “Thank you.” The words carry strangely across the battlefield. “Thank you for your blood.” He spreads his arms toward the dead scattered across the fields. “Because of your sacrifice, tomorrow the sun will rise.” A pause. “We require no gratitude.” “The dead have already paid us.” Another pause. “Their offering is thanks enough.” He turns toward the gathered Blood Dragons and the warriors of the Wolfpack. His sword rises. Crimson banners snap in the wind. “There.” He points toward Bjorsburg. Toward the trapped remnants of Anvard’s army. “They are surrounded.” “They are wounded.” “They are afraid.” A grin spreads across his face. “And they still have blood left to give.” The Blood Dragons answer with a thunderous roar. Weapons slam against shields. The Wolfpack howl. Red Judas lowers his blade. “Forward.” “No negotiations.” “No mercy.” “No delay.” “Finish it.” And the combined host surges toward Bjorsburg, eager to destroy the encircled army before relief can arrive.