The battle was over, and Ben surveyed the field. The Hellhounds were gone, but many of the students were injured. A few were dead, and Ben saw a figure putting drachmas into the mouths of the fallen demigods. 

"Sir." came a voice behind him. Ben sheathed his sword, all pretense of military discipline fading. "Hey Arthur." he said, exhausted. "What's the butcher's bill like?" Centurion Wellesley knew what Ben had meant. "Our losses are thirteen wounded, six of them will be out of action for a while. Rodriguez and Collins are dead." Just like his namesake, Centurion Wellesley was all business, which is something that Ben appreciated, but now he was tired. "Tell the men to stand down and assist the other cabins." Wellesley saluted and gave the order for them to stand down. Ben made a mental note to return his shield to whoever he took it from, but for now, there was more work to do.