Deep in the deserts of the Far East, where the difference between day and night temperatures was extreme, amid the ruins of Stafford, the sounds of battle rang out without pause: shouts, clashing weapons, the rush of blades through the air, explosive booms, and screams of pain rising and falling.
In this uninhabited place, far from the central Rabruz settlements, who would have guessed that the organization secretly pulling the strings from behind the scenes, controlling this vast island and ruling this distant continent, was hiding deep in these Gobi-like deserts, in a city that had lain in ruins for a hundred years? The organization was greedy and insatiable, taking whatever it wanted and even turning the island into a merciless slaughterhouse for its experiments—and this ruined city was its headquarters.
Of course!
The Far East had become a desolate, ruined, and uninhabited wasteland precisely because that was what the organization wanted. It was even entirely possible that the organization itself had planned and caused it all.
After all, only by turning the Far East into its own territory and making sure no one dared set foot there could the organization freely conduct all kinds of monster experiments and use the region as a training ground for its Claymore warriors. It could also protect all its secrets that way. That would surely have suited the organization best.
As for how much manpower and resources it had spent turning the Far East into a wasteland, how many towns it had destroyed, or how many people it had killed, none of that concerned the organization.
After all, they had come here from across the sea, from another continent engulfed in war, to develop weapons.
What kind of hell they might turn the world into in the end, and how many people might