Slick wet with blood gore and viscera, men and women parted way and saluted towards the fourteen feet tall armour clad warrior. At this moment, none would dare to do anything else. For the first few hours after a battle, it was protocol not to speak to King Sigismund under any circumstances.
Sigismund ignored looking directly at any of his worthy warriors. He respected them, but he knew himself that one wrong misjudge of a look and he would turn them into mince. He ignored everyone and focused on his destination. His post battle throne.
Built for his current size, he could sit there and meditate until he was calm. Still, he was struggling. As he sat down and left to his own thoughts, his eyes naturally turned to his war gear, more specifically, his sword, Doombringer.
