Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The ground was slick with mud, the water rippling gently in the wind, as if it were the last evidence of a fierce storm that had just passed. The gray sky hung low, casting a heavy shadow over the world. The air was thick with the scent of blood and faint gunpowder, remnants of a battle that had concluded, creating an atmosphere that was suffocating.
Yan Kong stood on a desolate mountain path, his gaze fixed on the distant Lanzka Hill. His pupils narrowed slightly, and his brow furrowed as if weighing something important. His fists were clenched tightly, the knuckles cracking softly. His breath came in quick bursts, mingled with anticipation and anxiety, as if a tremendous energy within him was waiting to be unleashed.
"I hope... I'm not too late," he murmured to himself, his tone laced with unease but underlined by a deep-seated desire. He knew that the Iron Dome's Terminator had arrived on this land, and this was an exceptional opportunity—a chance to slay a legendary warrior and claim ultimate fame.
His gaze dropped to the mud beneath his feet; he clenched his jaw and then lifted his head to look into the distance. Beneath the dim sky, he could almost sense the lingering echoes of battle; the traces of blood and violence still resonated in the air. This quickened his heartbeat, and his steps involuntarily quickened as well. His leg muscles tensed like a beast ready to pounce on its prey.
He began to run, splashing through the muddy water that flew up around him, soaking his boots and pant legs, but he paid it no mind. The peculiar swords strapped to his back clanged heavily with each stride, creating a metallic symphony that accompanied his advance. Each sword bore its own history—some with long, sharp blades, others curved like snakes, and some riddled with chips and scars—each one silent testimony to a past conquest. These swords were trophies of Yan Kong's victories, each representing an opponent he had defeated and his obsession with power and fame.
"Iron Dome's Terminator," a cold smile crept across his lips as he spoke in a low, gravelly voice. "If I can kill him, my name... will echo throughout the continent."
His pace quickened further, determination hardening in his eyes. He understood this was an adventure but also an opportunity that must be seized. His goal was clear; his ambition burned bright. He sought not just power but renown—the kind that would make everyone look up to him.
The wind whipped up the mud from the ground, casting his silhouette as lean and solitary against the backdrop of impending chaos. With each step he took, mud splattered around him as if proclaiming his resolve. He raced toward the horizon, toward Lanzka Hill—a stage meant for Yan Kong, where he would pursue power and fame in his next hunt.
Yan Kong sprinted up the winding slope, his boots squelching in the wet mud with dull thuds. His figure melded with the sound of the wind, resembling a beast driven by hunger and desire that could not stop. His eyes were locked onto the path ahead; as he ascended higher on the slope, he caught sight of the battlefield below.
A scene of ruin and death unfolded before him—fragments of mechs and scattered weapons lay strewn across the ground like a torn mechanical graveyard. The charred earth and tattered battle flags fluttered in the breeze, while the air still carried an almost palpable scent of blood mixed with lingering gunpowder.
Yan Kong stood there, squinting as he surveyed this hauntingly familiar sight. Such scenes had accompanied him since childhood. He was born on the battlefield and had grown amidst its chaos. The desolate landscape filled with corpses and debris was both a painful memory and an exhilarating call for him.
He took a deep breath; the mixed aroma of gunpowder, blood, and machine oil filled his nostrils. His chest rose and fell slightly as if he had transformed this scent into some sort of elixir igniting his fighting spirit. For a moment he closed his eyes; it felt as though he could hear the whispers of souls departing from their bodies—so faint they were nearly drowned out by the sound of rain.
"I can't miss this..." he whispered, his voice laced with a hint of urgency and fervor. His legs moved again, quickening their pace, splashing mud onto his legs, but he paid it no mind. He had to reach there; he had to witness it with his own eyes. He wanted to see the Iron Dome's Army, to see the familiar green smoke, to see the soldiers sustained by synthetic gas, and that figure who always stood at the front of the line, proclaiming loudly as a Warrior.
"A real battle... a cataclysmic war." The corners of Yan Kong's mouth curled into a cold smirk as his breathing became more rapid and his eyes shone brighter. He craved that exhilarating confrontation that made blood boil; he longed to feel the moment when his blade sliced through an enemy's armor. He imagined himself beheading foes, those vivid images of blood splattering in all directions clear in his mind, as if his fate had already been sealed.
"I will become the strongest warrior on this continent!" His voice thundered within him like a command to himself. He wanted not just strength; he wanted dominion. His goal was not merely power and fame but the authority to control everything.
Yan Kong's speed increased, his shadow stretching and contracting as the sword behind him clanged with a dull metallic sound, almost heralding the battle hymn of his ambition. Each step he took was filled with an uncontainable anticipation, eager for the moment when he could see the enemy's figure and embrace a grand hunt that belonged solely to him.
Yan Kong raced across the muddy hill, but as time passed, an inexplicable tension began to rise within him. He had expected to see the Iron Dome's Army, to see familiar green smoke wafting between the hills, to see that legendary figure known for never being defeated. Yet reality brought him an unsettling feeling. The hill was eerily quiet; not even the sound of soldiers' footsteps or metal clashing could be heard.
"Something's wrong..." Yan Kong murmured to himself, slowing his pace slightly. His gaze darted anxiously around; the prey he had anticipated was nowhere in sight. He quickly activated the scanning function of his Artificial Eye, a faint red halo sweeping across his vision, enhancing his sight and search capabilities.
His Brain-Computer calculated rapidly, a prompt sounding in his mind: "Target traces detected—" The display from his Artificial Eye highlighted subtle details. He lowered his head and looked at the muddy ground, discovering a long trail of footprints extending along the hill. The marks were deeply pressed into the soil, clearly indicating that a large number of people had passed through.
"This is... a retreat?" He squinted slightly as the Artificial Eye zoomed in further, revealing clearer details. He saw that the footprints were not orderly but chaotic, mixed with signs of some who had fallen and gotten back up again. Clearly, this was not a systematic withdrawal but a hasty and disordered retreat driven by urgency.
Not far away, he noticed several scattered items on the ground—breathing canisters, bent and deformed fragments of Metal Armor, and some equipment belonging to Iron Dome Soldiers. Even an Iron Dome Battle Flag was abandoned in the mud, fluttering slightly in the wind.
Yan Kong crouched down and picked up one of the breathing canisters. His fingers gently squeezed it; it was empty, even the last trace of green smoke had dissipated. His Artificial Eye scanned the canister; data indicated it was standard equipment for Iron Dome Soldiers but had been discarded—clearly left behind during their retreat.
"They ran?" Yan Kong clenched his teeth as various speculations flashed through his mind. His gaze followed the direction of the footprints as if searching for those missing soldiers from the Army. His heartbeat quickened; this was not what he had anticipated. What he wanted was not an empty hill but an earth-shattering battle—a decisive clash that would make him famous.
He stood up and looked around, fingers curling tightly at his sides, nails nearly digging into his palms. His Brain-Computer emitted another prompt, marking the direction of the footprints and counting the number of abandoned items while calculating the number of soldiers who had retreated and their route. Undoubtedly, these soldiers were part of Iron Dome's forces who had fled in haste without even taking their basic gear with them.
"Why did they retreat?" Yan Kong whispered, his voice tinged with anxiety and confusion. He couldn't understand why the Iron Dome's Army would choose to abandon this battlefield, nor could he comprehend why the legendary Terminator had vanished without a trace. His Artificial Eye scanned the ground for any signs, trying to uncover more clues, but everything pointed to one conclusion—Iron Dome had retreated, and they had done so with remarkable speed.
He stood there, feeling a yearning in his chest suppressed by an invisible sense of defeat. His fists clenched tightly, his eyes flickering with frustration and uncertainty. Was the prey he desired truly slipping away from his grasp just like that?
Comment 0 Comment Count