"Escape? Why should we escape?"
Shermans smiled at him, with an indescribable madness under the reflection of the firelight.
He struggled to open his pocket and took out two cylinders, finely crafted, seeming to be storage items.
"Help me load the rounds."
Shermans said as he tossed over the flintlock gun. This kind of weapon is slow and troublesome to load, so Shermans always carried gunpowder and lead bullets with him.
In fact, this was like a sword with ornate decoration, often more a symbol of status. If one day Shermans, the Cardinal, who was protected by guards, needed to use a flintlock gun to fire, then he would be close to death.
Just like now.
"Sir, there's still a chance!"
Yage tried to persuade Shermans, but the old man stubbornly shook his head. Unable to persuade, Yage followed orders.
As the battle intensifies, fireworks rise continuously, increasing the temperature of the entire wine cellar, the air becoming stuffy, Yage sweating profusely.
