After hearing Reinhardt's explanation, Albert's brow furrowed tightly.
He was an Angel of the Empire and its most devout believer. No one understood better than him the humiliation of having one's faith trampled upon—even when the ones he found himself empathizing with were a horde of Demons.
Because this was an extremely dangerous way to court death.
Perhaps the long, drawn-out battle had completely numbed their senses.
They fought from noon until dusk, and from dusk until deep into the night. The Demon's Blood soaked their armor and clothes, leaving a mark of slaughter and death that even a downpour could not wash away.
And yet, when dawn broke, even with corpses piled like mountains under their feet and rivers of blood flowing, all they could see was a still-endless Demon Army and a blood altar radiating evil.
Perhaps the despair of impending death had thrown Reinhardt's mind into confusion.
