The body carried an indescribable pain, every bone seemed fractured, flesh disintegrating, like a snowman exposed under sunlight, irrevocably heading toward demise.
The silhouettes outside the tent flickered, flames flared, the battle never ceased.
Anthony picked up a sharp sword, struggling to prop himself up with both hands, to stabilize his body, lest he fall down, gasping, blood continuously dripped, soaking the ground beneath.
It hurt, not just a physical pain, but scars etched into the soul, they relentlessly exploded Anthony's nerves, tormenting his sanity.
Then came the fatigue, a sense of exhaustion never felt before enveloped Anthony, breathing became difficult, as if a rock weighing a thousand pounds was crushing his chest, if Anthony didn't persist, he might not even be able to hold the sword in his hand.
"It's really bad, Your Excellency."
Anthony muttered, a helpless wry smile appearing on his face.
