The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the reclaimed fortress of Doldrey. The echoes of the recent battle lingered in the air, mixing with the acrid scent of burnt flesh, blood, and smoke. The Band of the Falcon, battered but victorious, now held the stronghold once more.

As the fires blazed around the fortress, consuming the remains of fallen soldiers and cleansing the battlefield, Guts found solace amidst the ruins of a bastion. Seated on cold stones worn by the ravages of war, he stared into the flickering flames, lost in his own thoughts.

In the distance, Griffith, the leader of the Band of the Falcon, engaged in conversations with his mercenaries near the gates. The moonlight played on his armor, creating an ethereal aura as he discussed the aftermath of their victory. The night was filled with a quiet, somber peace, interrupted only by the occasional drunken song from celebratory mercenaries.

Despite the triumph, the fortress retained traces of the brutality it had witnessed. Some corpses still lay scattered, and the Band of the Falcon worked diligently to burn the fallen and cleanse the battlefield. The clinking of weapons being collected and stones being cleared resonated through the night, a collective effort to erase the physical remnants of the recent carnage.

As Guts observed the scene below, he couldn't escape the pervasive presence of death. The quietude of the night was juxtaposed against the lingering aftermath of the battle. A moment frozen in time where victory and loss coexisted in the shadows of the reclaimed fortress.