"Defeated. We really lost completely."
Yaxley paid no attention to the Death Eater clutching his collar. Beneath his bowed head lay bitterness he could not conceal.
"That Mudblood called Albert Anderson is truly so formidable that we're unwilling to accept the cruel fact of our defeat." Yaxley muttered loudly enough for everyone around him to hear. "We fell into the enemy's trap long before we set foot in this castle."
"Hey, Yaxley, pull yourself together!"
Even several slaps failed to snap Yaxley out of it. He still wore a completely broken expression, filling the surrounding Death Eaters with deep unease.
There was no helping it. The situation did not look good.
No, "not good" was no longer enough to describe it. It was simply terrible.
The corridor littered with the bodies of Dark Wizards, along with the faint sobbing that could still be heard, was the best proof of their incompetence.
"What do we do now? Do we retreat?"
Several Death Eaters looked uneasily at Yaxley, waiting for him to make the final decision.
It was not that these newly joined Death Eaters trusted Yaxley particularly much. They simply instinctively wanted to dump the blame on him.
What had happened earlier had already inflicted severe psychological trauma on the survivors.
No one wanted to lose their life for no reason.
And even less did they want such an unfortunate fate to befall them.
They should retreat—immediately, at once—leave this damned castle and get away from this damned Wizarding War.
Yet no Death Eater dared to suggest retreating rashly.
Even though anyone who was not an idiot could see that they had already lost, and lost badly at that.
But under the pressure Voldemort had placed on them, no Death Eater dared mention retreat. Thus, everyone handed the final choice to