It was so damn hard to think about the campaign after Cavillace had returned. Plus, Beatrice was nowhere to be found. Telos’ head hurt. Every day when he woke up, he felt washed up and beaten, exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept at all. Wiping his face with his hands, he exited his tent to find the whole camp in an uproar.
He grabbed someone and found out that Eoin had managed to mobilize the entire city against Telos. The news had come from an early morning raid, organized by one of Telos’ chief captains. The raiders found themselves up against overwhelming numbers and were quickly gunned down. Only a couple men made it back, at least one bullet in each of them.
Telos found himself ruffled.
He didn’t understand this new tactic, he couldn’t envision how the entire city – the whole city, men, women, and children, right? – would stand against him. Didn’t they hate Eoin, too? How… why… he didn’t, just couldn’t fathom it.
Was he the bad guy? Was he the crazy, power-hungry tyrant?
No. He couldn’t be. He didn’t beat people at the drop of a hat, and murder them in alleys. He wasn’t bad. He was right. He was justice.
He wasn’t bad. He wasn’t evil.
I am good. I am right.
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