After a round of bombardment, the sturdy fortress had become a crumbling wreck, as if a single gust of wind could bring it down.
The noble's private army stationed inside had suffered devastating casualties. Under the shelling, they had no time to evade or fight back. They could only watch helplessly as their comrades were blasted into bloody fragments and the walls kept collapsing, crushing their own comrades to death beneath them.
In the square behind the fortress, few of the more than ten thousand mechanical laborers remained alive. Without the protection of the sturdy fortress, most of them had been nearly wiped out by a single round of fire from the Apocalypse Tanks.
"Save me."
"Save me."
Only a few lucky mechanical laborers were still alive, but they lay gravely wounded on the ground, barely clinging to life. They groaned in pain without end, begging for rescue.
"Cough, cough."
The noble commander crawled out from beneath a pile of guards' corpses. His body was extremely weak; even such a small movement made him unable to stop coughing.
After coughing several times, the noble commander finally felt his breathing ease. But he knew this was not the time to rest. He had to regain his fighting strength as quickly as possible, or death would be waiting for him.
The noble commander suddenly felt something warm and wet in his palm. Confused, he raised the right hand covering his nose and mouth and examined it. Only then did he discover that his palm was covered in blood.
Clearly, although he had survived the bombardment thanks to his guards' desperate protection, he had still suffered severe injuries in the fierce blast.
His lungs had been badly damaged, and every breath brought intense pain. But he knew he could not give up. If