His gray helmet gleamed. His horse snorted dangerously, annoyed by being squeezed by his strong legs. He held a heavy saber. Hadjar was sure that, over the course of his entire life, the Sergeant’s weapon hadn’t drunk a single drop of enemy blood. Only the blood of his own fellow citizens.
“Yes, Sergeant,” the old woman nodded. There was no fear in her eyes, only despair. “My son-”
A resounding clap sounded, and the Sergeant’s gauntlet slammed into her cheekbone. The old woman flew back, falling into the hands of her neighbors and friends.
Across her right cheek, the black spot of a terrible hematoma started to spread. The people shouted and rushed to check whether the old woman was still alive. By some miracle, the old woman had managed to cling to life. With a wheeze, she came to, spa
