Should I just confess my failure and surrender? He wondered what Roland Wimbledon would do to a Duke who dared to draw his sword and attack a member of the royal family. Would he imprison him, would he send him into exile, but more than likely he would just send him directly to the guillotine. No matter what, the future of Longsong Stronghold would certainly have nothing to do with him.
Seeing how the enemy had came closer step by step, as well as how from time to time the roaring sound and red fire of this fearful weapon would once more spread terror within his men, he knew if he didn’t flee at this moment, he would never again have the possibility to escape. He only had thirty people left, so this really was his last chance.
“They cannot stop us,” the Duke shouted, “as long as we cross the road, they won’t be able to catch up with us, after all, they only have two legs, furthermore we are only half a day away from the stronghold!”
The Duke then began to push his mount forward, unfortunately, not everyone had such a desperate spirit as himself. In the end, except for his personal guards, only some other people followed his assault.
The Music stopped.
The other side stopped at exactly the same time, as well as standing in a neat line like a wall.
He then saw how the other side began to rise their strange sticks.
When there was only around one hundred steps remained between the Duke and the human wall, he could hear one banging sound following after another. He then felt a piercing pain in his chest and abdomen, giving him the feeling like he was hit by a warhammer. Then came paralysis and the feeling of helplessness. His body began to fall backward, finally falling down from his horse.
While falling, the Duke opened his mouth trying to say something, but no clear sound came out, he was only able to cough twice, then a strong sweetly smell entered his nose, and his throat was blocked by a sticky liquid. Then darkness began to surround him.