In a dark cave, a crimson-furred bear lay, his body slumped on the ground by the cracked wall behind him.
His eyes were closed, and his head hung low.
Blood pooled around his body.
Then, his eyes snapped open.
W—what happened?
The memory of what happened came almost immediately.
My liege p-punched me?
He recalled the punch, but he didn't understand the reason. But even now, dazed and stunned, he never doubted.
He must have had a reason. He must have…
Bearlo trusted his liege.
A sound of orc roars reached his ears.
He raised his head slowly.
There he was, his liege, surrounded, battered… yet still grinning like always.
Still standing.
Still alone.
In comparison, Bearlo's body was relatively unhurt. Even the blood at his feet wasn't his own blood. He could feel a liquid pouring out of the cloak on his back in small amounts.
Why are you fighting all by yourself, my liege?
Am I that unreliable? That weak? That you need to send me to the back?
