Petofi Sandor, the patriotic Hungarian poet traveling with them and one of the leaders of this Hungarian Revolution, could no longer hold himself back.
"Your Excellency, are you really going to stand by and watch Hungary perish? Even if the odds of success are slim, we cannot simply do nothing, can we?
For God's sake, at a time like this, you must do something for this country!"
Istvan shook his head with a bitter smile. "I only regret that I did not stop you. If I had been more forceful back then, perhaps things would not have come to this.
Yes, I do need to do something now—but not by entering the government. Don't rush to refuse; let me finish.
When it comes to military command, I am merely average. Whether Duke Leopold or Marquis Luoqi, both are far more capable than I am. For military matters, I suggest you seek their help.
As for propaganda, Kossuth, you are much better at that than I am. You do not need my assistance.
My only virtue is knowing my own limits. I will not meddle in government affairs.
I will only step forward to coordinate ethnic relations. And at this point, Kossuth, put away that damned nationalist theory of yours!"
Kossuth was furious enough to choke. If not for the fact that he could not do without Istvan's support at this moment, he feared he might have rushed forward and punched him.
That fellow was truly infuriating. It would have been one thing if he merely kept coming up with rotten ideas, but he also poked at people's wounds every chance he got.
If he had a choice, Kossuth did not want to engage in nationalism either. But his supporters would not allow it!
The capitalists needed cheap labor, and the