The flames subsided, turning the battlefield into a charred, molten purgatory, with the air filled with the stench of scorched remains and the crackling of debris.
Some embers still licked at twigs and shells on the ground. Occasionally, a few insect corpses seemed to twitch slightly, as if ready to spring up the next second.
Louis's gaze swept across this scorched land, his expression unwavering.
"Advance by sectors, clear out the remaining enemies," he spoke with a steady tone, carrying a hint of undeniable chill, "watch for feigned death. Prioritize the flamethrowers, burn them thoroughly."
"Yes!" The knights didn't hesitate for a moment and quickly formed ranks.
The flamethrowers at their backs hissed out hot flames, the tongues of fire danced like dragons, purging the plague from the earth.
The elite insect corpses, just as they raised their heads, were pinned down by the fire line.
