The battlefield was silent now.
Not one soldier bearing the Holt name or associating with them remained standing.
From the lowest mortal soldier to the highest-ranked Grandmaster, they had all fallen. Blood soaked the ground, blackened by ash and Essence.
The once-proud structures of the Holt base had been reduced to crumbling stone and twisted metal. Towers were flattened. Training halls turned into pits.
The very earth looked scorched, cracked in places as if a titan had just finished his angry dance on the earth.
Total destruction. No survivors.
Arkas stood with his arms behind his back, surveying the wreckage with a hardened expression. The wind tugged gently at his clothes, now torn near the edges.
"Edgar," he said calmly, not turning. "Send the signal to HQ. Let them know the this base is finished."
Edgar nodded. A small orb formed in his palm, pulsing with light. He whispered a few words, and the orb zipped into the sky, vanishing in a blink.
