Fuller chose to flee.
He was a "Thief," he was good at escaping.
Dozens of strides allowed him to quickly disengage from the battle.
To hell with glory, to hell with the mission!
Let the undead hold the line there while he could run to a safer place.
It was only when death drew infinitely close that Fuller realized what he truly feared.
Now that life in the Rand Kingdom had returned to normal, perhaps he should go back instead of desperately fighting on the front lines. The general wouldn't care about the life and death of a sentry; the war would definitely be long, and he embraced various feelings of relief.
While he was panting heavily, his mind was rapidly spinning.
The trouble was it had already turned completely dark, and he had trouble distinguishing directions.
Not until he stepped into some kind of soft mud did he realize he had definitely fallen into the black river water he had previously tried to avoid.
