Meisheke's mood was very calm at this moment.
He knew he had made a mistake, having forcefully boosted the morale of the entire battalion, and now he had come too close to the front line, so close that the enemy could charge directly at him. If he were to die here, the morale of the whole battalion could collapse.
Then, it would truly become a joke where thousands were overwhelmed by just dozens of green skins.
Yet, this mistake was also one that had to be made. This troop, newly reorganized from adventurers, had not had sufficient time to instill proper ideological work, and their morale was low. If he had not done so earlier, they might not have been able to fight to this extent.
He knew the odds were against him, but he could not run away, either.
He could only draw his handgun, stand still, his black coat fluttering in the wind.
He stood tall and proud, firing bullets continuously at the green skin charging towards him.
Even in death, he would die standing.
