In the camp.
The gunfire had gradually subsided, but the flames continued to burn.
A Vellante soldier lay on his back on the ground, his bulletproof vest completely shattered, his right leg, hit by two bullets, bleeding profusely, his expression twisted in pain.
As he watched a power armor pass by him, a glint of panic flashed in his eyes, and he quickly drew his pistol, aiming at it and pulling the trigger.
However, there was only a click sound of the firing pin striking nothing coming from the gun chamber.
"Damn—"
He spat out blood-stained saliva, tossed aside the pistol as if he had made up his mind, and with a trembling right hand, removed a grenade from his bulletproof vest and forcefully pulled out the pin.
A trace of madness appeared on his face twisted by pain, and the Vellante soldier let out a hysterical roar at the power armor,
"For Marshal His Majesty—"
"Bang—!"
A short gunshot interrupted the Vellante soldier's final frenzy.
"You've got the wrong person."
