482

"Aren't each of you ready to embrace death? Aren't you all made of iron bones with your military souls aflame? Then I suppose these clothes shouldn't matter much to you, should they?" The Commander, too, was doing this for the first time, his smile gradually becoming twisted.

As a military man, he actually despised using such tactics; after all, soldiers could be killed but not humiliated. If they fell into the enemy's hands, it would be better to be executed publicly in such clothing than to live in disgrace.

But the moment they thought of the lands that had been taken away, of the people who had been displaced by the war, these mental burdens suddenly disappeared.

Seeing these outfits, the prisoners of war went berserk. They started to struggle violently, fearing not only for their own loss of face but also that their forces would become the laughing stock of the world. What was this—a cross-dressing squad?