Failure at its extreme.
Nearing eighty, he always believed himself to be robust, staunch, and passionate, capable of commanding the north and south, making countless people submit.
Yet at this moment, he realized he was such a failure.
Apart from these cold subordinates and some money he couldn't take with him, he had nothing at all.
Even Charles Mcintosh dared to discipline him and lay hands on him.
In the past, it had always been him taking action against them.
The wind blew against his body, the rain hit his face, cold, icy cold.
He couldn't fathom what he felt in his heart; it was a sensation he hadn't experienced his entire life.
Now, he solidly felt it.
The desolate wind cut across his face, very cold, like a knife scraping, exceptionally sharp.
Charles Mcintosh's men fired several shots at the ship, and the hull began to wobble.
Charles Mcintosh gestured for them to dive in and search for Sylvan Cheney!
