Ethan turned his gaze toward Lord Vance and the remaining two hundred soldiers who stood in defensive formations across multiple platforms. Despite their military bearing and professional equipment, fear was written clearly across their faces. They had witnessed systematic elimination of elite forces that should have been invincible.
The air hung thick with the scent of blood and cooling corpses. Volcanic glass created abstract patterns where molten rock had reshaped the battlefield, while crystalline spears jutted from platform surfaces like geometric monuments to superior power.
Lord Vance's expression was grim as he surveyed the devastation. Several Gold-rank captains dead. One hundred Bronze and Silver-rank subjects eliminated. The cost wasn't cheap by any measurement, and worse—the enemy showed no signs of fatigue or diminished capability.
"Your losses are mounting," Ethan observed. "How many more subjects are you willing to sacrifice for territorial pride?"
