Lord of Solva: Players as My Pawns

The battlefield, now eerily silent, was a scene from a nightmare. The stench of death filled the air, thick and heavy, as Shaoran stood amidst the carnage. The sounds of battle had ceased, but the echoes of the horrors that had transpired lingered in the air.

Old Bai, once a force of nature, now limped, his right leg completely torn off at the knee, his remaining foot mangled beyond recognition. His face was a mixture of pain and fury, yet there was a grim acceptance in his eyes as he struggled to remain standing. His hands were still bloody, gripping the hilt of a rifle, but his body was no longer capable of carrying the weight of his power.

Only 27 members of Jerry's gang were left standing, the rest scattered across the battlefield in pieces. Some were mere husks, others had been torn apart with brutal efficiency. The Howlers had slaughtered them mercilessly, tearing through flesh and bone like it was paper.

Shaoran stood still, his eyes scanning the devastation, the weight of the loss heavy on his shoulders. He had witnessed death before but this… this was different. This wasn't just the loss of life—it was the brutal annihilation of a group who had fought alongside him.

The Dark Howlers' bodies began to flicker in and out of existence, slowly vanishing into thin air. Shaoran's brow furrowed as the system's notification flashed in his mind.

"Processing: Dark Howler bodies being converted into energy. The fallen will not remain dead. Body health has reached 0. Teleportation protocol activated. They will be returned to a resting state. They cannot re-enter Solva for one week. Constant rest required. Missing body parts will regenerate over time. Their bodies will evolve."

Shaoran sighed, the tension in his shoulders momentarily easing. At least they weren't truly dead, but the cost of their survival weighed heavily on him. The bodies of the Dark Howlers were consumed, their energy processed by the system, leaving only the faintest traces behind. The battlefield was littered with debris, weapons shattered and clothes torn, stained with the blood of both man and monster.

Jerry, who had been standing at the far edge of the battlefield, watching the darkened sky, turned toward Shaoran. His expression was unreadable, but there was a sharp edge to his gaze. His eyes, once filled with gratitude, now held suspicion—hostility.

Shaoran could feel the change, the shift in Jerry's demeanor. The man was struggling to come to terms with the losses, and the frustration was starting to crack through.

"What the hell was that?" Jerry demanded, stepping forward, his voice full of anger. "You brought us into this damn fight, and half of us are dead or barely alive. What's going on, Shaoran?"

Shaoran stared at him, unmoving. "It wasn't my choice. I didnt know this gonna happen and we didnt had any choice but to fight. The Dark Howlers are the Nightmare Horde's elite. one of monster behind this world destruction. I was choosen to protect this world. I dont have any other way to ask for help. I didnt know I would involve you this much. 

Jerry took another step forward, his hands clenched into fists. "That's your answer? You threw us into a slaughter, and now you stand there like nothing happened?"

Shaoran took a breath, his voice cold but calm. "Listen, Jerry. You're not dead. That's what matters. The system has ensured that. The bodies of your men are being processed, they were send back to special place to revive than, they'll recover with in a week and those who survived will evolve. They'll be stronger. You'll be stronger. I couldn't stop the fight, but I can give you my word system dont lie."

Jerry stared at him, the anger in his eyes slowly fading, replaced by disbelief. "You're telling me that… they are not dead? they are not…" His voice trailed off, as if unable to fully comprehend the information.

Shaoran nodded, his gaze softening just slightly. "they are alive, Jerry. The system will take care of them and the evolution process will make you all stronger, but it will take time. You'll need rest, but you won't be gone long."

Jerry's breath seemed to catch in his throat, and he shook his head, almost as if trying to convince himself that what Shaoran was saying was true. Slowly, he sank to the ground, sitting heavily on a rock, his chest heaving with the realization.

Shaoran didn't say anything more. Words were meaningless now. The damage had been done—both to their bodies and their trust. But at least they had another chance.

The battlefield was quiet again, save for the soft rustling of the trees and the occasional groan of the wounded. The air felt heavy with the aftermath of violence, the promise of recovery mingling with the bitter taste of loss.

Shaoran turned to Old Bai, who was leaning heavily on his remaining leg, gritting his teeth against the pain. The old man's eyes flickered up to meet Shaoran's, a mixture of exhaustion and respect in his gaze.

"We made it through, kid," Bai rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Not sure how… but we made it."

Shaoran nodded silently. "Just hang on. you will regrow your limbs soon. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

But even as he spoke, Shaoran couldn't help but feel the weight of the battle on his own heart. The fight had been brutal—more than he'd expected—but it had only been the beginning. There was more to come. Much more.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the sounds of the wounded groaning as the system's regeneration began to work. Slowly, the injured bodies of Jerry's gang were transported into the mine, and the goblins are busy carrying the hand cart. 

It was still a massacre. But at least now, there was a glimmer of hope for those who had survived.

Shaoran stood still for a long time, watching as the moon rose higher in the sky, its pale light casting eerie shadows across the ruined battlefield. His thoughts were heavy, but he knew one thing—this was far from over.