Some people needed no words when they were together. Zhang Tie and the brothers of the 39th Division's Iron-Blood Battalion were like that. They had killed enemies together, bled together, and shielded one another from blades, guns, and storms of arrows, trading life for life as they walked out of desperate straits. By then, the blood flowing through each person's body had long ceased to be theirs alone.
Zhang Tie felt that the blood of a bald, burly man named Feiliao still flowed within him. And in the bodies of those surviving Iron-Blood Battalion brothers, Zhang Tie's blood flowed as well—the blood he had spilled for them.
Zhang Tie got into the car, and Reinhardt jumped in too. Without saying a word, he clenched a cigar between his teeth, started the car, and sped off.
At the entrance to the Allied Forces Headquarters, Zhang Tie was not afraid of anyone tailing him. If the Allied Forces Headquarters in Moge City could not even ensure something so basic, then there was no point in anyone risking their lives in the Selnes War Zone. They might as well all go home and wait for the Devil Race to come knocking.
"Did you kill Master Abian?" Reinhardt asked as he drove, as casually as if he were asking about some trivial matter.
"Yes. He got several of my women killed, so I wanted his life. But that time, I nearly got myself buried with him!" Zhang Tie picked up the lighter in the car and lit the cigar Reinhardt had tossed him. He took a puff, letting the rich, hazy fragrance of the cigar drift through his mouth.
Reinhardt had taught him to smoke cigars back in the Iron-Blood Battalion. Before that, Zhang Tie, still a green youth, had thought smoking a cigar