They watched through binoculars as Ackman's three thousand Black Steel Knights were ground into mush by the tanks.
They saw Ackman himself flung aside like a rag doll and finally blasted into half a corpse by three light explosive bullets.
This wasn't a battle; it was a massacre.
Bartlett's Adam's apple moved up and down twice, his face paler than snow: "Something's wrong, something's wrong, this is..."
In the next second, the man known as the "Mad Dog" suddenly tightened the reins and spun around like he'd been whipped, desperately fleeing!
He shouted while running, "Retreat! Retreat, retreat, retreat!! I, Bartlett, didn't see a thing today! Who is Ackman? I don't know him!! This is a drill!! A drill!! Run—!!"
The Personal Guard of the Seventh Legion barely had time to react, hurriedly following, the scene as chaotic as a panicked herd of wild deer.
Sol stood dumbfounded.
He watched Bartlett flee like a mad dog and was momentarily at a loss.
