Three hundred kilometers outside Holy Light Bastion, deep within the Sahara Desert, lay a hidden demon hunter outpost.
The base had been built inside an abandoned oil exploration station. Above ground, only rusted derricks and a few half-collapsed prefab buildings remained, but three underground levels had been excavated beneath it—enough to house two hundred people for combat and daily life.
At that moment, ten people sat around a rough metal table in the third underground level's operations room.
"Kyle." Hans spoke without taking his eyes off the data screen on the table. "You've been inside for three days. Tell us."
Everyone in the room turned to look at Kyle.
Kyle's figure slowly solidified. His black face emerged from the void, and a white eye opened on his forehead, staring at everyone.
"The southern side of the Bastion." His voice came from the void, drifting nearer and farther. "They've concentrated their main force at the southern breach."
Hans's fingers paused for a moment before resuming their tapping.
"How many?"
"About twelve thousand. The rest are scattered across the north and east. The west is basically empty."
The dagger in Thomas's hand stopped moving.
"Twelve thousand in the south? Then who's guarding everywhere else?"
Kyle's eye blinked.
"No one."
The room fell silent for two seconds.
"And," Kyle continued, "the moderates."
Isaac raised his head, flames flickering in his dark red eyes.
"What moderates?"
"The ones who were forcibly conscripted." Kyle's voice remained flat. "Bartholomew is using them as an energy supply. Those moderate angels are locked around the core altar. Their grace is drained once a day to replenish the core guard."
The spikes on Michelle's back suddenly trembled, emitting a piercing hum.
"Draining grace?"
"Once one is drained dry, they replace them with another," Kyle said. "When I went in,