The long column setting out from Hanging City wound from the top-level core district all the way down to the heavy-load docks below.
Heavy mecha and war beasts boarded the barges one after another. Hunters with Flight Wings on their backs crowded against the deck rails, craning their necks to watch the supply train inch along behind them. At a junction in the lower corridor, the cargo racks of two heavy Transport Beasts had jammed together. Several logistics craftsmen, sweating profusely, fought to pry the tangled brackets apart with wrenches and crowbars.
"Hey, stop kicking! Quit fucking rushing us!" A craftsman wiped condensation from his face and cursed at the mecha blaring its alarm behind him. "Keep shoving forward and you'll burst half a cartload of my cultivation pods! You going to pay for them with your life?"
"Move. I've got this!"
Hannibal strode up and yanked off a tactical glove. The activated muscles in his arm bulged. With a low growl, he drove his shoulder beneath one side of the rack and wrenched the bent fasteners apart by brute force!
The racks shifted free, and the column finally began moving again.
Hannibal shook his forearm, now marked with two dark bruises, spat, and vaulted onto the lead beast's back.
The cultivation pods held war beasts that had yet to mature. Once taken to the front and raised further, they could replace the legion's losses. The convoy also carried mature spare organs for repairing damaged war constructs. The Patrol Carrier was still on its mission in the lungs, and a route for moving the entire ship had yet to be confirmed. On this thrust deep into enemy territory, they would have to build all the front line's heavy war machinery on-site. Fortunately, the two biochemical craftsmen of years past had