Hood was deeply dissatisfied with his own overly weak mindset, but at a time like this, who would care about that?
Ronan continued emphasizing matters related to Dumb Sand. "That thirty-meter line is your defense position. No matter what, you can't let Dumb Sand cross it... Hmm, you wouldn't embarrass yourselves by using direct attacks, would you?"
Your two shameless lovers' own son—how would we dare!
The next second, Hood straightened his chest and back and answered crisply, "Understood. Direct attacks are prohibited, and Dumb Sand is not allowed to cross the thirty-meter line."
"Then that's settled. Next, take up your positions."
"Take up our positions?"
Hood froze for a moment, then saw Ronan wave a hand. Near the rear area of the Sports Car Camp, a row of numbers condensed from water vapor suddenly appeared out of thin air. They resembled the writing still left on the shore over there, but were much sparser. Then they extended forward, continuously increasing and expanding their coverage.
Whether outside the relatively stable Formatting Domain or within the domain where energy currents surged and fluctuated, those illusory, fragile vapors always took shape in a single instant and marked their positions.
Most importantly, those numbers condensed from water vapor were clearly dividing the area into sections. Their spacing was roughly equal, scattered in staggered formation, like markers placed across a somewhat irregular chessboard...
Damn, wasn't this just a sand table?
Hood watched as numbers from "1" to "35" appeared in no fixed order and with no obvious pattern to their positions, but their total number happened to match the Burners currently on the beach...
One short.
Hood blinked. Just as he was pondering the logic behind it, Ronan snapped his fingers. Almost simultaneously, a smaller number floated above the head of every Burner on