"We're dead, we're dead, we're dead."
Shang Yan looked imposing as he raised a blood-red banner on a bloodstained broken spear, but his calves were trembling. He knew there was no way he could hold off the enraged gnolls charging at him alone.
He was just a lousy scout psion. The good gun he'd bought with his own money had been destroyed in the meteor strike just now, and any one of those elite gnolls could easily strangle him with one hand.
What was he doing?
Fuck!
How had he gotten so brave?
This wasn't how you were supposed to act, Shang Yan! What were you doing? Shouldn't you be turning around and running right now? Why were you keeping up this heroic pose? Had you played so much role-playing that you actually thought you were a hero?
His thoughts were a mess. All he could do was grit his teeth and stop himself from shaking, carried along by a rush of anger, and wait for death with his eyes closed, still holding the banner aloft.
But at that moment, a wonderful notification chimed in Shang Yan's ear. He lowered his head and saw:
First Warband commander killed in action. Command authority delegated down the chain to Scout Captain "Thirty-Year-Old Shang Yan." First Warband support points remaining: 3,154!
Use support to summon?
"Fuck, how come it's only 3,100?! Meow, you're going to get me killed! You should've cut down a few more gnolls before you died and gotten us up to 3,500, at least! Fuck! At least let me summon Lord Murphy so I can get some affection points before I die!
Fuck!"
Shang Yan was both thrilled and miserable.
He was thrilled because it seemed he might be saved, but miserable because 3,100 points weren't enough to summon a