607

Since Bernadotte had become a mercenary, he had thought that he had forgotten how to fear.

He used to think that those stories in fairy tale books were just fanciful and dull plots conjured up by writers. As a professional mercenary, as someone who lived among life and death, fire and iron on the battlefield, he had thought he understood what fear was, what death was. Even when facing destiny, he had enough confidence to fight it.

But now, Bernadotte realized that his imagination was too shallow and conceited for this world.

"Whimper... whimper..."

He gritted his teeth, large beads of sweat sliding down Bernadotte's forehead. The gun was in his hands, the safety was off, his finger already pressing against the trigger, and he would be able to fire bullets as soon as he pulled it.

But at this moment, he simply couldn't do it; his fingers were extraordinarily stiff, to the extent that Bernadotte struggled and still couldn't move his fingers even slightly...