The situation was tense as even the sight of the Death Monarch on the sky invites dread to the hearts of his enemy.
His heart keep beating erratically. The cold wind of the clouds did not help to disperse the sweat that is running on his back
Tyrone look down and he saw his soldiers. All of them looked like they were confused. The disciplined army he trained look no more different than a rabble of a ragtag group.
He knew right then what he has to do. Even as his sweat drips from his back, even though his heart keep beating like a drum because of fear, he steel himself.
He could die….but he could not humiliate himself. This is the privilege of the strong. And what is the privilege of the strong?
Pride. The weak do not need pride. They could endure humiliation. But the stronger one became, they also become prideful.
They would rather die than be humiliated. Looking at his soldiers he knows he need to keep the morale.
They could not falter even before the battle started.
