The joy of victory tasted so sweet.
So sweet that Dirac Siso could not tear himself away.
"Charge, soldiers, charge... catch those enemies with their backs to you! Hack them down with your swords, run them through with your spears, tear into them with your teeth... use every means you have to kill these enemies who invaded our homeland! Today, you will all become heroes!!!"
Count Siso's roar bordered on madness. Mounted on a white warhorse, he showed no sign of his age. His crimson cloak snapped behind him, and a smear of blood still stained the Ancestral Sword in his hand-a "souvenir" from his head-on clash with several members of the Bohemian Cavalry moments earlier.
Though he looked old, Count Siso clearly refused to act his age. The instant the Prince's Army's enormous exploding rockets routed the enemy ahead, he had charged out on horseback.
The count truly led the charge, leaving even the Count's Army's cavalry half a beat behind him, trailing by several horse lengths.
Count Siso felt immensely satisfied. These were the foes who had kept him pinned down for over a month. He had not forgotten the Bohemian envoy's arrogance when presenting those unequal terms, or that expression of a rich man tossing alms to a beggar.
Dirac was a stubborn old man, an old-school noble who valued honor above his own life. Faced with such humiliation, he would sooner die than submit.
Prince Chris, by contrast, had been somewhat uncertain of Count Siso's loyalties. He did not know whether this old count, whom he had once fought, was a true patriot or a self-serving political opportunist.
Still, because his smuggling route passed through Hegrande, Chris had always treated Dirac Siso courteously. Not only had he paid every toll in full, but he had also