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墨書 Inktalez
Yan Kong stood unwillingly in the mud, his anger intensifying with each rise and fall of his chest. He activated the scanning functions of his Artificial Eye and Brain-Computer, the red light sweeping across the ground once more in search of more traces. His Brain-Computer processed every detail left on the ground—the depth of footprints, changes in soil moisture, and even the residual water stains on discarded items.
"Analysis complete." The cold voice of the internal prompt echoed in his mind, followed by a rapid influx of data into his consciousness. The Brain-Computer concluded that based on the changes in ground moisture and the dryness at the edges of the footprints, the Iron Dome's army had retreated over five hours ago.
Yan Kong's brow furrowed sharply, rage surging within him. His fists clenched tighter unconsciously, knuckles turning white from the pressure. It felt as if a string in his mind had snapped; this reality was nearly unbearable for him—his long-awaited battlefield, his desired prey, had vanished without a trace five hours prior.
"They ran away!" Yan Kong gritted his teeth and then swung his fist down hard into the slippery mud beneath him. A dull thud echoed as mud splattered everywhere, coating his arms and face. His breathing quickened, his chest heaving like an engine ready to explode.
"Damn it!" he shouted, his voice reverberating across the empty hills, but there was no response—only the damp air and the occasional whisper of wind surrounding him in silence. His fist remained clenched in the mud, slick earth seeping through his fingers with a repulsive sensation.
Just as Yan Kong's emotions were on the verge of spiraling out of control, the Brain-Computer chimed again, coolly reporting new analytical results. "According to records, the Iron Dome Army rarely conducts retreat operations. Considering the hasty traces left behind, it is speculated that they may have encountered a significant event that forced them to abandon the battlefield."
Hearing this conclusion made the veins on Yan Kong's forehead twitch slightly. He straightened up, arms hanging at his sides, droplets of mud falling from his fingertips. A flicker of doubt crossed his eyes, but more so was anger. He knew that the Iron Dome's army was renowned for its ferocity; retreating was almost a disgrace for them unless something utterly unavoidable occurred.
"A significant event?" Yan Kong murmured under his breath, barely containing his fury. His mind raced to piece together a plausible explanation. What kind of upheaval could cause the Iron Dome to abandon their position? And especially under the leadership of a Terminator?
Standing atop the muddy hill, Yan Kong felt as if a heavy boulder pressed against his chest. He stared at the chaotic retreat traces on the ground, an unwelcome possibility surfacing in his mind—one he desperately wished to avoid: the Terminator had fallen.
"Impossible..." he whispered, his voice trembling slightly; yet even as he spoke those words, he couldn't help but amplify that thought within himself. The Terminator was an absolute pillar of the Iron Dome Army, nearly a symbol of invincibility. How could an army led by a Terminator retreat? If they did so, the only reasonable explanation would be that that legendary warrior was no longer present.
Yan Kong clenched his fists again, nails digging into his palms but failing to alleviate his agitation and anger. If this were true, it meant that his purpose for coming to Lanzka Hill had been utterly destroyed. He had planned to defeat the Terminator himself and claim its head, using this victory to declare himself the strongest warrior on this continent. But now, he didn't even have a chance to see the Terminator; its downfall might very well be due to another's hand.
"Damn it!" he growled lowly, stomping his foot against the ground and splattering mud everywhere. He forced himself to calm down and quickly activated his Brain-Computer to search for the latest information regarding the Iron Dome Army. The interface materialized before him as data scrolled at an astonishing speed; he focused intently on the screen, eager to find any information that could help him deny this possibility.
"The internal situation within the Iron Dome has not experienced any high-level rebellion or internal turmoil; the leadership structure remains stable." The cold, emotionless voice of the Brain-Computer delivered this brief message, striking Yan Kong's heart like a cold knife. The Iron Dome had no internal issues, no rebellions, and no upheaval among the higher-ups—this could only mean one thing: something significant enough to overturn the situation had occurred on the battlefield.
"Is the Terminator really dead?" Yan Kong whispered through gritted teeth, his gaze darkening further. His rational mind had already concluded the answer, which was precisely what he dreaded facing. The death of the Terminator explained everything: the hurried retreat of the Iron Dome, the abandoned equipment, and the signs of chaos. It also meant that someone had beaten him to it, achieving the grand feat he had long desired.
At that moment, a fierce fire ignited within Yan Kong's chest, burning so intensely that he could barely breathe. He did not mourn the death of the Terminator; rather, he was enraged that this victory had been snatched away from him. It was his glory, his long-planned fame, and now it had become someone else's achievement.
Yan Kong stood in the slippery mud, his eyes scanning the surroundings incessantly. His chest heaved violently as emotions churned within him, nearly impossible to suppress. He refused to believe—refused to accept that the Terminator had fallen just like that. He needed to see it with his own eyes, to witness that corpse before he could accept such a reality. To see the living or to see the dead; until he saw evidence, he would not allow himself to believe.
He lifted his head and looked around; the hillside was a scene of devastation. The ground was littered with remnants of war: shattered mech shells, twisted steel weapons, and scattered soldier gear, each stained with mud and blood. His Artificial Eye activated again, its red light sweeping across the area as it meticulously examined every inch of land. Yet all he saw was desolation—none of the answers he sought.
The last battle on this hillside had taken place just a day prior when guerrillas from Unwoven Nation fiercely resisted against the Iron Dome forces here. These guerrillas relied on their familiarity with the terrain and took advantage of the muddy conditions during the rainy season and rugged mountains to continuously attack Iron Dome's supply lines, causing considerable trouble for the Army. However, Unwoven Nation was merely a small country with limited manpower and inferior weaponry compared to Iron Dome. Their resistance only delayed their fate; ultimately, Iron Dome's overwhelming strength shattered their morale completely.
Yan Kong's gaze swept over the bodies strewn across the ground—soldiers clad in Unwoven Nation uniforms fixed in distorted postures within the mud, still clutching their rudimentary weapons tightly in their hands, their expressions frozen in pain as if they refused to surrender even in death. These scattered corpses silently narrated the brutality of this battle while reminding Yan Kong that this place had once been hell.
With enhanced vision and assistance from the Brain-Computer, Yan Kong's Artificial Eye scanned this battlefield littered with debris. The red circle accurately traced every mark on the ground, gradually piecing together a blurred image. Suddenly, his Artificial Eye detected an unusually large body lying in the mud. Without needing to look closely, he already knew who it was.
"Terminator..." Yan Kong whispered as a weight sank in his heart; his steps became cautious. He slowly approached that body, his shoes squelching softly in the mud beneath him. His gaze remained fixed ahead as an oppressive feeling rose from deep within him, like an invisible rope tightening around his throat.
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