The battle showed no signs of ending.
Instead, the fighting grew more brutal and chaotic.
The gleaming armor of the Holy Paladins became increasingly stained with dark, thick blood and gooey flesh.
Following their earlier training, they continued to fight back-to-back.
In the face of overwhelming force, they sought strength by believing themselves to be a force of Good—a bastion of holy light against the encroaching darkness.
But they were new, and resolve alone was not enough to win in war. The sheer number of their attackers was taking its toll.
The streets and footpaths of Siterion became slippery with blood, from both Paladins and the sons of Siterion.
The air, which was supposed to be filled with hawkers' cries and customers haggling, was now thick with the clang of clashing steel, the shouts of the combatants, and the cries of the wounded.
