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Inside the camp.
The gunfire had gradually died down, but the flames still burned.
A Wislander soldier lay on his back on the ground, his bulletproof vest completely destroyed, his right leg bleeding profusely from two gunshot wounds.
His face was twisted in pain.
When he saw the exoframe passing by, a flash of terror flickered in his eyes. He quickly drew his pistol and pulled the trigger.
But all he heard was a dry click, the hammer hitting an empty chamber.
“Fuck…” Spitting out a mouthful of bloody saliva, he tossed the pistol away. As if he had made his decision, his trembling right hand reached for a grenade on his shattered vest and yanked the pin free.
A mad gleam surfaced on his face as he let out a hysterical roar, hurling himself toward the suit of armor.
“For the glory of the Marshal…”
Bang!
A sharp gunshot interrupted the Wislander soldier’s final frenzy.
“You called the wrong name.” Holstering his smoking pistol, Old White reached out with his right hand and...
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