Laslo frantically scanned his surroundings. The corpses of the heavily armed invaders were scattered in pieces across the rubble-strewn street, none of them whole. Bloodstains were everywhere.
The surviving soldiers of the Defense Army stood atop the enemy's corpses, gathered around him and Reinhardt as if on a pilgrimage. They lowered their heads and knelt on one knee.
It was as if they were awaiting a word from the Angel, as if they were awaiting the gospel of the Divine Emperor.
But all they received was a single, hoarse and low phrase.
"Keep fighting."
Only then did Laslo realize with astonishment, 'I'm not dead?!'
'But how can that be?!' He had clearly seen the enemy's longsword plunge into his chest. The memory of that suffocating, excruciating pain was still fresh.
He hastily looked down at his body. There was an ugly gash on his chest and another on his abdomen. The bloodstains on his leather armor and clothes hadn't even dried yet.
