Alfred walked at the front, with everyone else following behind. Under his lead, they all walked very slowly.
Given a choice, they would rather have sprinted out as though their backsides were on fire, leaving themselves no time to think or feel.
So this slow pace had instead become a kind of torment.
Richard was the first to crack.
He pushed away Memphis's supporting hand and plopped down on the ground, slapping it with both hands like a shrew who had been wronged at a market, shouting over and over:
"What the hell is this? No, seriously, what the hell is this?"
Everyone stopped. Some looked at Richard, while others lowered their heads.
After shouting several more times, Richard asked, "So we're really just leaving like this?"
No one answered him.
Richard kept shaking his hands as he asked, "Hey, I know we can't beat that woman, but did we really have to just leave the captain there and run away ourselves?"
Memphis reminded him, "Those were the captain's orders."
"I know. I'm not deaf. But I still can't accept it. Our squad looks like a complete joke."
Alfred looked at Richard and said calmly, "Just follow the young master's orders."
"Hey, friends, does anyone want to turn around and fight our way back? Even if we lose, the worst that can happen is that we become spectators after we die, right? Do you really believe that woman's three conditions? They sound to me like something she made up on the spot to trick us."
Philomina walked up to Richard and raised her hand.
Smack!
Richard took a slap across the face.
"This is a completely pointless emotional outburst."
Richard glared at Philomina, drew a deep breath, and said, "I just don't want to regret this. I can feel it.