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Keter, who was standing before the Primes, walked with complete ease. As if out for a stroll, he stepped between them.
“You have a choice to make as well. Will you fight to the end, or surrender?”
It wasn’t a rhetorical question. Before anyone could answer, Keter continued.
“Of course, you won’t make the foolish choice of fighting to the end. You can’t defeat me. That much is obvious. And at best you’d struggle and kill a few hundred Sefira soldiers before it’s over… So what would that gain you?”
Keter slipped between Jeffrey and Dust, the Primes from Luban, and slung an arm around their shoulders.
“What grudge do you have against Sefira? None, if we’re honest. You fought because the situation demanded it. Who’s going to blame you for surrendering now? Look over there. Your army has already surrendered.”
At Keter’s gesture, the Primes turned their gaze. They didn’t actually need to look.
Clatter… clatter…
Across the battlefield, the quiet, unmistakable sound of the allied soldiers discarding their weapons echoed.
“Do not lay down your arms! We have not lost yet!”
Unable to bear the sight of surrender, one general raised his weapon and shouted, but an arrow pierced straight through his forehead. It was the work of Nelson, Sefira’s finest marksman.
“Ahh!”
“An arrow reached all the way here from that distance?!”
The alliance had believed they only needed to beware of Keter. Once again, they realized how wrong that assumption had been. Those who had hesitated now cautiously set down their weapons.
Hissop, Sefira’s patriarch, seized the moment and called out in a resounding voice. “Sefira does not mistreat those who surrender. The Bydent family was treated thus. The royal army was also...
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