"Monroe?!" William gestured, but Chen Mo shook his head, indicating no.
"Hey! Don't you want to enjoy something this wonderful?" Buck asked regretfully on Chen Mo's behalf. To him, having a cigar at a time like this was an exceptionally comfortable and delightful thing.
Take life and death lightly; if you don't submit, fight. That was the life of a mercenary. In truth, they had known what that life would be like from the moment they became mercenaries. So at a time like this, a cigar really could refresh the mind and steady the nerves.
"Don't want one!" Chen Mo had no love for cigars, so he shook his head. He did not want to smoke, no matter what kind of smoking it was. He had never liked that sort of thing.
These fellows really had big hearts. As expected of mercenaries who had weathered bullets and bloodshed—even if they could not win and might be killed, they would still enjoy themselves before death, without any thoughts of breaking down.
"What a pity! Looks like you won't get to experience that wonderful feeling!" Buck said, shaking his head as he saw Chen Mo refuse. He took another blissful puff himself, savored the smoke in his mouth for a while, then slowly exhaled it.
Cigars did not need to be inhaled into the lungs. The smoke was simply savored in the mouth before being exhaled. That was why cigars were less harmful than cigarettes. But no matter how one put it, smoking still harmed the body—it was only a matter of degree.
But for mercenaries, who could lose their lives at any moment, why would such a little bit of damage to their health be worth making a fuss over?
Chen Mo said nothing. Instead, he flicked open his lighter, picked