Deng Jiuru sat there, unmoving, with the banners fluttering behind him.
He turned his head and saw that at the ferry crossing behind him, the north-guarding troops led by Li Fusheng had also arrived and were preparing to cross the river.
A commander naturally possesses their own pride. One can admit defeat or concede elsewhere, but on this battlefield, they have always believed only that the brave are invincible.
But, despite this, Deng Jiuru had to admit that once this contingent of north-guarding troops also crossed the river, his position here would finally be completely secure.
The old general suddenly felt a sense of relief. He didn't blame the Eldest Prince for the humiliation inflicted upon the military families he represented; in truth, he had never harbored any resentment for bowing his head in defeat.
He had not submitted to the Eldest Prince.
He had submitted to His Majesty.
Whatever the Eldest Prince did, the shadow of His Majesty stood behind him.
