Lackeys! The mercenary who had spoken up in doubt earlier was still only eighteen or nineteen, the youngest in the party, his blood running hot with youthful fervor.
The moment he saw this tragic sight, outrageous to gods and men alike, rage shot through his hair.
He immediately pulled back and charged toward the husband and wife being besieged by puppet beasts.
Intent on saving them.
At a time like this, with hot blood surging through him, he could no longer keep his reason, much less consider the consequences of doing so.
A shadow moved faster than he did, pouncing on him and knocking him flat to the ground.
The young mercenary fell hard in astonishment. He had never imagined the resistance would come from behind him. When he turned back, he was even more shocked to discover that the one stopping him was the captain he had always respected.
"Why?" The young mercenary was so agitated he could barely force out the question. Why would a man like the captain stop him?
He should have supported him!
No, he should have been one step faster, standing forth to save that suffering couple under siege from the puppet beasts!
Yet not only had the captain failed to do so, he had even stopped him from saving them. What kind of sense did that make? Was this really the captain he had always held in such high esteem? Was this truly the captain to whom that mother had been willing to entrust her life, asking him to care for her? If one clung to life in fear and shrank back at the moment of life and death, what right did one have to call oneself a qualified mercenary? More importantly, faced with such a tragedy, outrageous to gods and men alike,