How did it come to this?

Charry wouldn’t say he was a good person. He certainly wasn’t evil, but he didn’t think himself a paragon of the light akin to the Hero.

But even he could tell that what they were doing to Woodsman’s Town was fucked up.

Yes, they had put up a lot more resistance than any other settlement before them, and it was true that the slave population here was significantly larger than they had expected. Walking through the pens where humans, hobgoblins, and other races were kept like animals had been enough to snuff out any sympathy he might have had towards the defenders, but Charry didn’t think that gave them free rein to loot and pillage the town like they were doing.

In the chaos of the battle, he had been separated from Captain Rubeus, but it didn’t take a genius to realize this couldn’t have happened without the man’s approval.

Woodsman’s Town was a large settlement at the western reaches of the Darkwood. Made of timber buildings, the fires the revolutionaries started to burn a hole through the wooden palisade had spread over the rest of the town rapidly.

Not all houses were made equal, of course, since the wealthier, western part didn’t burn. Alchemical treatment of the wood, if Charry had to guess.

The thick, cloying smoke clung to him, making breathing difficult. It filled his lungs with every inhalation, a constant reminder of the destruction around him. Even hiding in untouched buildings, he couldn’t avoid the knowledge of what was happening outside. The smell of burning wood and flesh mingled nauseatingly in the air, searing his senses.

Everywhere he looked, revolutionary soldiers ransacked homes, smashing windows and kicking in doors. They tore through belongings, pocketing anything of value. The cries of the innocent - children wailing for their parents, women screaming in terror - echoed through the streets.

In one house, he saw a soldier dragging a wealthy woman by her hair, her face a mask of pain and fear. Another soldier rifled through a chest of drawers, pulling out jewelry and coins, his eyes gleaming with greed. Charry felt bile rise in his throat. This wasn’t liberation. This was madness.

As he passed another burning building, he saw a group of slaves, recently freed, huddled together in confusion and fear. Their freeing should have been a moment of joy, but it was marred by the chaos surrounding them. He approached them, trying to offer comfort, but his words felt hollow, meaningless amidst the carnage.

“We’ll get you to safety,” he said, his voice strained. “Just stay together.”

The slaves nodded, but their eyes were empty, their spirits broken. It would take a while before they could start to believe again, and they certainly weren’t being helped by the carnage around them.

As he continued through the town, Charry’s thoughts churned. The Revolution was supposed to bring about a better world, one where people were free from oppression. He wouldn’t say that the 4th Corp had betrayed its principles, not yet, but they were undoubtedly quickly sliding away from righteousness.

In the distance, he saw a young boy, no older than six, standing before a burning house. Tears streaked his soot-covered face as he called out for his mother. Charry’s heart ached, and he rushed over, scooping the boy into his arms.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered, trying to soothe the child’s cries. But even as he spoke, he knew his words were inadequate. There was no comfort to be found in this hell.

The boy clung to him, sobbing uncontrollably. Charry looked around, desperate to find a safe place, but there was none. The town was a war zone, every corner a potential death trap.

He spotted a group of revolutionaries standing over a fallen noble, their swords bloody. One of them looked up, meeting Charry’s gaze. There was a wildness in his eyes, a hunger for violence that made Charry’s skin crawl.

I am no stranger to killing, and I have little doubt that man deserved what was coming to him, but I wonder if the man who ended him cared at all whether the act was right or wrong.

Charry took a deep breath, steeling himself. He had to do something - anything - to restore a semblance of order. He couldn’t stand by and watch as the chaos consumed Woodsman’s Town and its people.

“Anton!” he shouted as he spotted his dwarf squadmate rifling through a wealthy house, a bag of silverware and jewelry clutched in his hands. Anton, with his perpetually grumpy expression, looked up in surprise.

“Charry? What in the deepest pits are you doing with a kid?” Anton grumbled, though there was a hint of guilt in his eyes.

“We need to get these people out of here, now! The whole town’s going to burn down at this rate!” Charry grabbed his friend by the arm, pushing the child up so that he could hold him with a single hand, and pulled the dwarf away from the looted treasures.

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Anton opened his mouth to argue, but Charry cut him off. “This is wrong, Anton. You know it. We are better than this.”

Reluctantly, Anton nodded, dropping the stolen goods. “Fine. Let’s do it your way.”

“Rupert!” Charry called out his other squadmate, who was emerging from the house with his arms full of expensive fabrics. “We need to evacuate the civilians and ex-slaves. Now.”

The man looked confused for a moment but gave up much quicker than the dwarf. “Alright, alright. Lead the way, Sarge.”

Charry quickly gathered more of his fellow soldiers, those who hadn’t succumbed to the madness, bullying them with his rank when needed or even directly threatening their manhood if he found them in compromising positions, though luckily, no one had actually fallen that low, and began organizing the evacuation.

He directed the freed slaves and townspeople away from the burning buildings, guiding them toward the southern entrance of the town. Even to him, who had the benefits of a higher blessing, the air was hardly breathable, and the heat from the flames was nearly unbearable, but Charry pressed on, determined.

“Keep moving!” he shouted, urging the civilians forward. “Stay together and head south!”

The cloying smoke made it hard to see, but he could make out the frightened faces of the people he was trying to save. Mothers clutched their children, old men and women shuffled forward, and the newly freed slaves looked around in bewilderment. The cries of the children were heartbreaking, but Charry knew he had to stay focused.

Once he had corralled a significant number of people and left them under the watchful eyes of a couple of dozen loyal soldiers, he turned back towards the burning town. He couldn’t leave without finding Captain Rubeus and ensuring the evacuation was complete.

As he made his way back through the chaos, he saw the devastation in full. More houses were collapsing under the weight of the flames, and the entirety of the slave pens had disappeared. Charry prayed to the Light he had gotten everyone.

The sounds of battle had mostly faded, replaced by the crackling of fire and the occasional scream.

I genuinely have no idea why they resisted so hard without a significant force to defend them. There isn’t even a garrison here! The town militia was all they had, which wasn’t more than a hundred ill-trained people. They were barely enough to keep the slave population under control! I don’t have time for this now, but something is not right.

Once the revolutionaries had broken through the enchanted palisade - that did not even have a rudimentary ward to protect from cannon fire - the battle had been over, but the fierce resistance of the town militia and the chaos of the fires spreading had destroyed the 4th’s discipline. It was enough of a shitshow that Charry was sure, when word got back to the Grand Marshal, that they’d be all sent back to training if heads didn’t fall.

Passing by the western gate, Charry’s attention was drawn to a series of distant lights. At first, he thought a spark from the inferno around him might have drifted with the wind, but as he watched, he realized there was more than one fire - and they were moving.

Ah, that’s why they weren’t inside.

A horrible speculation took over his mind. What if the loyalists had deliberately left Woodsman’s Town undefended so the revolutionaries would enter it and be trapped? Had it all been expected from the beginning? How could no one have seen it coming?

He then grabbed his spiraling thoughts and forcefully halted them. This was not helping. He needed to call for a retreat immediately.

“Enemy at the gates! ENEMY AT THE GATES! Withdraw!” Charry bellowed, his voice cutting through the night. “The enemy is coming! We need to get out of here!” His warning echoed through the burning streets, reaching the ears of those still capable of hearing. Some soldiers looked up, confused and somewhat dazed from the revelry, but Charry’s urgency spurred them into action.

He sprinted through the town, grabbing any revolutionaries he could find. “We need to pull back!” he yelled at a group of soldiers rifling through a burned-out building. “The enemy is almost here!”

“What?” one of them, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, asked, incredulous. “But we’ve taken the town!”

“Not for long!” Charry snapped. “This whole place is a trap. Get the slaves out and retreat to the southern entrance. Now!”

The soldiers hesitated for a moment, then, seeing the determination in his eyes, began to move. Charry continued his frantic run through the town, alerting as many of his comrades as he could. Whenever he saw someone looting or aimlessly wandering, he pulled them back to reality, urging them to prioritize the evacuation.

Grabbing as many civilians as he could along the way, Charry pushed them towards the southern entrance. He couldn’t save everyone, but he realized that most of those remaining were freemen who would be in no immediate danger from the royalists. The ex-slaves, however, faced the grim possibility of being chained up again. The thought spurred him to move faster.

I can’t save everyone. They must be here by now. We need to get out.

With a heavy heart, Charry began running toward the southern gate, having done what he could. There, he was met by a mass of people, including the majority of the 4th, who had pulled themselves together and began organizing a retreat.

The fields outside Woodsman’s Town were shrouded in darkness as the march began, and the only light came from the burning buildings behind them. The smoke and the loss of all they knew frightened the civilians, but they followed his lead, for which Charry thanked the Light.

Seeing that no one else seemed to, he took charge, barking orders to keep the group together. “Stay close! Grab onto the nearest man, and don’t get separated!”

Despite his efforts, the retreat was messy. It didn’t take long to realize they wouldn’t get far enough with the pace they were moving at, so a few dozen soldiers stayed behind to slow down the enemy’s advance, buying precious time for the rest to escape. Charry watched as they bravely prepared the ground for a standoff, knowing their sacrifice was the only reason they could get to safety. Though there wasn’t much hope for them, he still grabbed a ranger and sent him ahead toward the main camp, hoping that reinforcements could come in time.

“We need to keep moving,” he told the group, his voice hoarse from shouting. “We’re not safe yet.”

The journey across the fields was grueling. The moon provided little light, and they stumbled over uneven ground, their progress slow. Charry kept looking back, the sight of the fires in the distance urging him forward.

Charry felt exhausted. The soldiers who stayed behind, the civilians who had been caught in the crossfire - it was a high price to pay. But they had managed to save many lives, and that thought gave him a sliver of solace.

As dawn began to break, they finally reached a small copse of trees that was defensible enough they could use it to hold until help arrived. Charry ordered a halt, allowing the exhausted group to rest. The civilians collapsed to the ground, their faces etched with relief and exhaustion.

Charry scanned the group, counting heads and assessing their condition. He approached Anton and Rupert, who were helping a water mage distribute filled canteens and tending to the wounded.

“How many did we lose?” Charry asked, his voice heavy with fatigue.

Anton shook his head, his expression grim. “Too many. But we saved more than I thought we would.”

“Have you seen the Captain?” Even before he asked, he knew the answer, having already looked for the man. The two shook their heads grimly.

“We did all we could; that has to be enough,” Rupert told him, reading the weariness on his face, and Charry sighed.

“I suppose it does.”