For a brief instant, Renard's fingers grew slick before he regained his composure and seized his axe with such force that his knuckles turned white.
" How is this possible? "
Was it the poison, corroding not only his body but also gnawing at his mind?
Was death rushing toward him so quickly that it was stealing away his will to fight?
If these thoughts had nearly extinguished Renard's thirst for battle, the despair he saw in his men forced him into introspection.
What if they truly were doomed?
What if it was true that they were nothing more than condemned men walking toward their deaths?
" Nevertheless… " Renard breathed.
His voice was weak, yet it carried.
" It is true that if we retreat, your brothers, your sisters, your children, your parents, my son… our city will die. "
He lifted his axe and rested it on his shoulder, then slowly removed the helmet of his armor.
When his knights saw his eyes, a heavy silence fell over the ranks.
They felt shame.
