Misha trembled with fear on the carriage, but she mustered up her courage and quietly lifted the curtain, wanting to see what was happening outside.
On this chaotic battlefield, the pungent smell of gunpowder filled the air. Soldiers from both countries were killing and grappling with each other, lives disappearing at any moment, as worthless as grass.
Yet the scene that filled her with despair unfolded right before her eyes.
Old John stood trembling in place with a spear in his hand, never having experienced such terrifying slaughter.
Behind him were soldiers with murderous and bloodshot eyes.
"Old John—"
Misha anxiously poked her head out, wanting to warn him, but it was already too late.
"Sss—"
A blood-stained spear pierced through his chest, and crimson blood gushed from Old John's chest.
