A cold autumn mist rolled across the vast, undulating expanse of the Central Plains, clinging to the deep trench lines cut along the Great Highway.
On the high northern ramparts of the forward fortress, Sagiri stood silently beneath the gray sky, his dark hair shifting in the chill mountain wind.
Below him, the kinetic barrier cannons forged at Molakwa were positioned every fifty paces along the defense line, their silver-veined barrels aimed at the northern horizon.
Thousands of Molakwa engineers and frontline riflemen patrolled the reinforced trenches, checking power cables and stacking high-frequency disruption rounds beside each carriage.
Far in the distance, a terrifying sight stretched across the open plains: Lanka's second invasion wave had appeared, a vast, silent ocean of heavy Soulless automata marching in mechanical lockstep.
Unlike ordinary mortal armies, there were no war horns, no beating drums, and no battle cries echoing across the open grass.
