The Chaos soldiers once again withdrew from the frontline. Malin held his sword, watching these desolate Chaos soldiers discard their armor and flee into the distance. Even though he wasn't gasping for breath, Malin still felt exhausted.
It was a sensation entirely transcendent from the physical form, as the sun began to set on the distant horizon.
Gazing at the diminishing sunlight, Malin sat down.
A soldier climbed out of the trench and approached Malin, confirming he had merely sat down, and then turned to the trench with joy, waving his hand.
Malin laughed. These young people probably thought he was dead.
"Got a cigarette?" Malin asked.
The young soldier touched his chest, pulled out the last two cigarettes from his pack, and offered one to Malin: "Forgive me, Your Highness, this is my last one."
"Is it your local brand?" Malin looked at the clean white paper of the cigarette and asked.
