Meanwhile, Matthew was in a meeting with a friend from the Chamber of Commerce.
"With Montiria's million-strong army at the base of Basha's Sacred Mount, you all could die here at any moment. You should lead your people back." Matthew, assessing the situation, knew he could no longer be just the strategist. He had to join the fight now.
"President Larson, our Militia Squad also numbers ten thousand. At worst, we'll fight those b*stards to the death. If we abandon you and leave, how could I ever show my face again?!" Emmett Wiseman declared, patting his belly and picking up an automatic AK47, known for its affordability and durability.
"Emmett, I'm serious. Even I can't guarantee a safe retreat in this situation. How can you expect to protect yourselves?" Matthew paused, then continued, "Your men have families and children depending on them. If they die, their families will be ruined."
Emmett looked at Matthew, gripping his gun tighter but saying nothing.
"Mr. Larson, we're not afraid to die!"
"That's right. Even if we die, the Martial League and the Commercial Union will provide enough compensation for our families to live comfortably!"
Two burly men appeared at the door, grinning and speaking carelessly as if unaware of the life-and-death stakes.
Emmett's eyes reddened as he saw them, and he shouted, "Cletus, Rusty, you two left your post without permission! One less bread for each of you tonight!"
The two towering men rushed in, hugging each other and crying as if losing a piece of bread was the end of the world.
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