The rhythmic, metallic clatter of spent shell casings hitting the rocky ground sounded like a monotonous melody of death. At the crest of the hill, Dayat stood as a solitary silhouette against the bruised purple of the fading dawn, gripping his HK416-Adamantite with a white-knuckled intensity. Behind him, the figures of the Lamping villagers, led by Lunethra and Kancil, had finally vanished into the dense, protective embrace of the Eastern forest.
He was truly alone now. His only companion was Dola—an assistant who looked more like an angel of death in her white, tattered robes fluttering violently against the biting wind.
[Master, the second-tier cavalry units are beginning to execute a Phalanx-Arcane formation,] Dola reported, her voice as clear and cold as a winter stream. [They are no longer attacking in a chaotic frenzy. The enemy's tactical adaptation rate has increased by 40% following the initial firearm contact.]
