David rode the wooden boat and smoothly reached the foot of the mountain; the plains were right before him, with Tyrok Bastion standing tall in the center.
Tyrok Bastion was not a castle in the traditional sense; it didn't have towering spires like a Nether fortress, but was instead much lower and more stout.
Reaching it would be no easy feat; David's gaze slowly retracted, landing on the plains in between.
This place had turned into a boiling purgatory, with the fires of war flying everywhere and the sounds of various guns and explosions rising one after another.
The Warlord-class Titan seen earlier had crashed to the ground, parts continuously peeling off its body.
Otis was terrified by this apocalyptic scene, following closely behind David, never leaving his side.
From a distance, David saw Hans fighting a Voskani traitor next to the wreckage of a transport ship.
The traitor tried to raise his gun to shoot Hans, but Hans performed a clean slide, followed by a strike with the butt of his gun against the traitor's head.
The traitor retreated in pain, and Hans sprang up like a cheetah, pressing the muzzle of his gun against the man's jaw.
Two short searing sounds, and the traitor slumped down.
A decisiveness that far exceeded that of an ordinary soldier.
No wonder when David first met Hans, his squad had been wiped out while he alone survived; this already spoke volumes about his strength.
"Those bastards must have made their move during the welcoming banquet," Hans kicked the corpse aside and looked toward the thick smoke of Pylon,
"Otherwise, the defensive line couldn't have collapsed so quickly."
David took out several roasted potatoes and filled his hunger bar to the max, preparing for the upcoming battle.
With a shield in his left hand, David hesitated for a moment between a Heavy hammer and an enchanted Iron sword for his right hand, eventually choosing the Iron sword.
When dealing with small units, a Heavy hammer could easily send enemies flying, which was sometimes detrimental to dealing damage.
Hans and David exchanged a look, nodded, and began to move forward.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat. A traitor flashed out from behind a container, muzzle flashing with fire. David raised his shield and blocked it all.
shields were the ultimate counter to ranged weapons; the only downside was that durability dropped a bit too fast against fully automatic weapons.
The gunfire ceased; the magazine was empty. A flash of panic crossed the traitor's face as he instinctively shrank back behind the container to change magazines.
David stepped forward; while charging, his right hand switched to a fishing rod, casting the line in an arc.
The hook accurately sank into the traitor's body, and with a pull—
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The traitor cried out in surprise as he was yanked from behind the cover, stumbling toward David.
The distance between them closed instantly, and David's left hand pressed down with the shield.
Parrying the gun the traitor frantically tried to raise, he slashed out with the enchanted Iron sword in his right hand.
Flames wrapped around the enemy's body; the traitor convulsed from the burns, and David finished him off with two strikes.
Nothing but experience points; this was far too stingy.
David's level had reached 15, most of the experience coming from smelting iron ore.
A red dot suddenly appeared on the ground in front of him. A sniper, David realized.
The opponent wasn't aiming for his forehead but at the ground; it was a warning.
David looked in the direction of the red dot.
About two hundred meters away, several Chimera armored vehicles and transport boats had been manually placed into a crude circular defensive line, enclosing a small camp.
The camp's gate was a sliding sheet-metal door stripped from a vehicle.
On top of one of the armored vehicles serving as a watchtower, a small, thin figure was propped up with a sniper rifle, aiming at him.
"Friendlies!" Hans was the first to lower his muzzle, shouting toward the camp, "ensign Hans, 111th Regiment!"
The person opposite lowered the sniper rifle, and a shout came back.
"What did you say? I can't hear you! Louder!"
"Hans, 111th Regiment, friendlies!"
This time the person heard clearly, set the rifle aside, and waved at David and the others, signaling them to approach.
As the two walked closer, they saw the camp was laid out with great skill.
The wreckage on the perimeter was arranged to form firing slits, with Heavy stubbers and searchlights mounted on the vehicle roofs.
The sheet-metal door was pulled open a crack, and the sniper from before crawled out.
Her height was only half of David's, and she looked remarkably like a halfling from Western fantasy works.
"Whoops, sorry for pointing the gun at you just now." The sniper's voice was high-pitched, and her speaking speed was incredibly fast.
"It's really not my fault; you guys just look too strange." The sniper's gaze lingered on David's iron suit for a moment.
"A weirdo wearing sheet metal." Her eyes then moved to the hideous scar on Hans's face. "And a disfigured ensign."
Realizing her words were a bit blunt, she scratched her head, and her gaze finally shifted to Otis.
"And this... what kind of animal is this? I've never seen one before."
"Whatever, forget it. You're just weird. Come on in, you lot."
The short figure in front took a step aside to make room. "By the way, you can call me Bella, a Lytlin."
Lytlins, one of the officially recognized Abhuman species in warhammer.
Possessing near-perfect sniping skills, a natural'superb culinary talent,' and extremely high commercial ability.
Despite some minor tendencies toward petty theft, these talents allowed them to appear frequently in various regiments.
Ever since David ate his only sandwich in that greenskin cave, he had been obsessing over finding more special recipes.
He thought to himself that when he had time later, he must discuss cooking with this Lytlin to see if he could get more recipes.
Stepping into the camp, a strong smell of blood mixed with disinfectant hit them.
Some canvases were simply laid on the ground, with seven or eight wounded soldiers lying on them. Groans and wails were constant; some had broken arms, while others' legs were completely gone.
A female soldier with a short ponytail, carrying a case, was briskly bandaging their wounds and doing her best to comfort them.
"Deep breaths, relax. I'm going to start bandaging now; it might hurt a bit."
The female soldier picked up a stack of bandages and wrapped them quickly.
"Aaaaaargh!"
The soldier being treated let out a scream.
"Hmph, look at you being such a coward, screaming like that just for a bandage—" "Aaaargh, be gentler!"
David's gaze swept across the corner, where he saw several corpses already covered with sheets.
The Medic made her rounds, stabilizing the wounded as much as possible before carrying her medical kit toward the center of the camp.
A temporary table had been made from ammunition crates there, with a military map spread across it. A battery-powered desk lamp provided dim, yellow light.
A gray-haired veteran was hunched over, staring at the map, his finger moving slowly.
"Sergeant Victor, we have to move quickly. Some of the patients can't hold on much longer."
The Medic's eyes were slightly red, seemingly unable to bear it any longer.
Victor, the veteran she spoke of, let out a sigh.
"I know. Calm down. We've all lost a lot. Like you, I don't want to lose any more people."
"That's exactly why we must be more cautious. If we make another mistake, even a tiny one, it could lead to a fatal blow."
"Victor, they say even a cornered beast will fight, so what are you doing? Waiting for death?" The Medic was very dissatisfied with Victor's reply; she turned her head away and walked off angrily.
Victor felt a bit helpless, but he soon pulled himself together and turned his gaze toward David.