Klaist's despair was instantly extinguished by the faint crying behind him. Who was it? Who was crying? Even if they were no match for the Zerg, as members of the Elf Race, they should die on the battlefield without fearing powerful enemies. What was there to fear about death? Crying out of fear of death should never exist among the Elf Race!
Klaist angrily turned around, but then froze.
Behind him stood rows upon rows of Elf Race warriors, their faces filled with the resolve to die. Yet the crying came from behind the warriors—from the elderly, the weak, the women, and the children of the Elf Race who possessed no fighting strength... Death itself was not frightening. There were far too many things more terrifying than death, such as witnessing the death of one's loved ones, such as the white-haired sending off the black-haired...
The angry roar reached his lips, but he could no longer voice it. Klaist turned back around and suddenly felt something cool on his face. He raised a hand and wiped it away. Only then did he realize that he was crying...
A warm hand suddenly clasped Klaist's right hand. He sharply turned his head and met Krestel's steadfast gaze. "Little brother, don't be sad. You must have faith in us, and faith in the Goddess of Nature. Although the Zerg have broken through the first line of defense—the line we believed to be the safest—I still firmly believe that we can stop their attack and lead our people to continue surviving..."
"Big sister..."
"Enough, Klaist. You're not a child anymore. You are the commander-in-chief of the three armies. If the soldiers see your tears, their morale will be shaken. The first line of defense is about to fall. Prepare the second line..." Krestel looked