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Hearing the loud whistle signaling the end of the battle, Lathro dramatically blew the smoke off the barrel of his "Horus," spun it a dozen times on his finger, and with a sharp movement, returned it to its holster. At that moment, he felt like a true, untamed, rogue sharpshooter, but then he looked up at the battlefield, with the swaying figures of allies and opponents, and felt a pang of shame for such a theatrical display.
- Ahaha... ha... - the young man awkwardly scratched the back of his head, hoping no one had noticed.
He approached Minerva and Gesper with the intention of helping them get to their feet.
- Uh... I'm sorry for... - he extended his hand. - Are you okay?
— Ha, — Gesper refused the help and, overcoming the pain in his body, struggled to straighten up, — what an interesting display of nobility after such a cowardly victory. In a fair fight, you probably wouldn't even participate and would run away with your tail between your legs.
— Gesper...
— Well, am I wrong?