"Take your men and return to your Duke. I do not need aid that arrives only when the battle is already won." Ramiro said.
The lead soldier stiffened at Ramiro's words, his jaw tightening. A flicker of something—shame, perhaps, or frustration—crossed his face, but he masked it quickly. The men behind him exchanged uneasy glances, some shifting where they stood, as if uncertain whether to follow the order or protest.
One of the younger soldiers hesitated, looking between his commander and Ramiro. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it and closed it again.
The lead soldier exhaled sharply. "Very well, my lord." His voice was tight, his hands clenched at his sides. "We will relay your message to the Duke."
Ramiro gave him a cold, expectant look. "Then go."
There was no room for argument. The soldiers had no choice but to obey.
