The Battle Escalates

The morning mist had yet to disperse, but the camp was already fully awake. Hunters hurried back and forth, hauling equipment and repairing damaged tents. The firelight was dim, yet it revealed the tension on every face. Yesterday's scent of blood still lingered in the air, like a shadow hanging over everyone's hearts.

The first squad had just returned. Palm was trembling all over, her face pale, yet she had never let go of her notebook. She slumped beside the campfire, fingers pressed tightly against its cover as though it held lives within.

Knov stood beside her and spoke calmly. "Palm, give me the records."

Palm clenched her teeth and handed it over with both hands. The notebook's cover was damp with sweat, and some of the writing had blurred, but every step from the previous night was recorded with meticulous clarity. Symbols, coordinates, time codes, enemy numbers—even the direction of every pincer attack was documented.

Knov flipped through it quickly, his fingers gliding over the pages, his expression darker than usual. He looked up at Morel, his tone icy. "There is no doubt. They possess command and coordination. That Squadron Leader stood in the center of the formation and never attacked personally, yet it made hundreds of Ant Soldiers cooperate like an army."

Morel drew heavily on his pipe and slowly exhaled a cloud of white smoke. "That means we are no longer facing mere monsters, but an organized war machine."

Ryan rested his twin blades across his knees and silently wiped them down. Green fluid had already corroded parts of the blades, leaving mottled stains. His voice was low. "They learn. Rhythms, formations, even our responses—they are copying and evolving."

The air froze. The flames crackled inside the tent, as if accompanying the tense atmosphere.

Just then, the