The King's death meant the end of everything.
With no orders coming from their highest superior, the metal shells roaming the Inner City finally stopped moving, and the few surviving machines still struggling in vain ceased resisting one after another.
Mortas, who was leading the assault, immediately realized that fellow had succeeded.
He decisively changed tactics, shifting from extermination to capture.
Their movements became painstakingly careful, afraid of damaging what remained, even though a moment earlier they had wanted nothing more than to destroy their opponents completely.
Ropes replaced blades, and Recorders took the place of warriors.
Enemies one second became precious spoils the next.
Perhaps nothing could have been more tragic.
But even Mortas knew how much these machines had to offer.
Unlike his outward image as a cold hunter, Mortas was, at heart, a lord who strongly approved of change and progress.
If these machines were so troublesome as opponents, then bringing them onto his own side would provide unimaginable support.
Perhaps the Hunter Clan could have mechanical equipment like this in the future.
Imagining all kinds of possibilities, Mortas watched from the sidelines as the Recorders tapped and tinkered.
They carefully examined the construction of these ancient machines, even though some still had numerous mantis corpses hanging from their forelimbs.
Many surviving mantises collapsed to the ground the moment the battle ended, unable to move, but even more shed silent tears.
Of course, Mortas would not let anger blind him to the benefits right in front of him.
The Hunter Clan had suffered considerable casualties, and after this battle, Mortas would seek appropriate compensation.
But the moment the King was slain, the war had ended completely. All that remained was to clean up the battlefield.
"Gron did well. He was surprisingly efficient-more than twice as fast