A warlord paced back and forth around the room. When he grew tired, he sat down, only to stand again moments later and resume pacing.
Cigarette butts were scattered all over the floor. Some had been discarded after only two puffs.
Yet not long after throwing one away, he could not help taking out another and lighting it.
He was deeply troubled because those major warlords planned to ambush the Federation troops on his territory!
Without a doubt, whether or not they succeeded in ambushing the Federation troops, they would never admit afterward that they had done it.
And he, an ordinary warlord, would have to pay for the reckless actions of those major warlords. He might even end up on the Federation's blacklist.
At the thought, his whole body felt uncomfortable. He was miserable and had the urge to use the bathroom, but after standing there and shaking for a long while, he could not squeeze out a single drop of urine.
He felt that he was going to die. The feeling of sensing his death draw closer day by day was truly awful. He wanted to run, but he could not.
If he dared to flee, his corpse would soon be hung from a utility pole or statue somewhere, with a sentence carved into his chest.
Something like "Running away is a coward's act" or "You can't go anywhere." Everyone liked doing this. Only by making corpses "speak" could they intimidate those who refused to obey.
He had done it himself before, but he did not want anyone using him for such a thing. So he could only remain here.
Just one day ago, he had still hated the Federation troops and Sanchez with all his heart. With so many places to choose from, why had they chosen