"Retake the Southern Highlands fortress tonight. Victory means life, defeat means death."
That was the general's order.
The westerly wind cackled as it swept through the tent, a chill passing over everyone's spines.
"Has the Southern Highlands fortress been retaken?"
No one answered; the fortress was still in the hands of the White Lion.
"Take a short rest." Sekler's tone left no room for dispute, "Your mission remains to retake the Southern Highlands fortress."
With that, the general turned and left.
Colonel Laszlo had been shot in the right leg. He sat on a three-legged stool, expressionlessly packing his pipe as if the matter had nothing to do with him.
Lieutenant Colonels Robert and Castor had ashen faces, but neither of them spoke.
The tent was silent as death.
A hoarse voice rang out behind Sekler, "All the cannons have been destroyed; I destroyed them myself."
The general did not acknowledge, nor did he stop his steps, simply walking out.