"In the face of life and death, any compromise is self-destructive."
Sancho slowly released his hand, and Cervantes straightened his chest.
"I never think anyone's sacrifice is necessary or rightful."
"Sacrifice is inevitable."
"What's the difference?" Sancho asked softly.
Cervantes was silent for a moment, not directly answering the question.
"In the face of death, everything is undifferentiated."
"But we can choose our reason for dying."
"Burn like firewood, embrace your dignity, and vanish in the flames."
"Do not die kneeling like a camel."
Sancho suddenly felt exhausted, an unprecedented fatigue, like a camel lost in the desert finally finding water, allowing its weary body to lower its proud head and rest at this moment.
Sancho's figure swayed, finally falling against Cervantes' chest.
"Welcome back, Sancho."
...
Seventeen hours before the war fully erupted.
Everyone gathered at five in the afternoon.
