'Will you not reply, Kayne?'
Alexander stepped through the stunned warriors and worried militia.
He would gently stroke the hair of any woman he dealt with and ruffle the hair of the males he turned into Vrykul and their wives.
They all watched him, like a champion, like their king, as he walked with a tall back and broad shoulders as if the enemy of over 30,000 existences were Nothing.
His mere presence and actions restored a slither of confidence in the broken morale of the damned warriors of Selmot.
[Why do you not flee... This cannot be won, even by you!]
Finally, the reply came as Alexander stepped on the central bastion and rampart.
'How can I flee when there are women I love here? Leaving them to die without even trying isn't something I can do.'
[Ah... Why are you always like this...]
'Hmmm?'
[Nothing... It's just...]
