The lieutenant tells his men to shut up and follow their instructions. They're talking in circles, he says, and they don't know what to do. When a disaster strikes, only 10 percent of the people manage to do what's right, and only 20 percent of them panic and do wrong things. The other 70 percent just stand around and do the same thing. The lieutenant asks how they're going to take control of the situation. He tells them to give it a week's rest. Thanks to his power, no one will trust anyone anymore. Now even the proto-nationalists will realize that they can't believe in the sun god anymore. He says that this chaos is "wondiferous art" created by himself. He's heard voices of contention, high voices, nasal voices, lovely voices, and high voices of contempt. Everyone starts punching to the fire and the infernal voice 11 percent. He thinks this is a festival, not a fighting festival. He compares it to the one he saw at the fire. The infernal is just like the one who fought with him 12 years ago. He doesn't belong with them.