Inside the Command Center.
A large screen covered an entire wall, its light falling across faces with varying expressions.
On the screen, four red trajectories extended in straight lines, marking the missiles' flight paths in real time.
Staff sat at their consoles, fingers flying across keyboards.
"Missile One, altitude fifty-five hundred meters, speed stable."
"Missile Two, attitude normal, yaw angle zero point zero three degrees."
"Missile Three, fuel consumption within expectations."
"Missile Four, satellite signal good. Estimated arrival in the target area in one hour and twenty minutes."
Zhao Gang stood before the screen with his hands behind his back and nodded in satisfaction.
He turned toward the representatives of the various races behind him and explained with a smile:
"The Long Sword-10A travels at over eight hundred kilometers per hour."
"Converted to meters per second, that's only two hundred and thirty."
"About the same as a Sixth Rank's movement speed in battle. They can handle it perfectly well. There won't be any problems."
Surprise flashed in Adrian's eyes.
"That speed... rivals the Dragons Clan's flying speed, doesn't it?"
Thorin looked envious.
"Being able to fly sure is nice. We Dwarves used to have airships too, but they were far too slow."
"A shame... Who knows when we'll be able to restore our former glory?"
High in the sky.
The Sixth-Rank Elf Warrior gripped the handles on the missile tightly.
Wind howled past his ears, whipping his long hair wildly.
His initial fear had long since faded.
He kept his eyes open, looking around curiously.
The land below swept past at tremendous speed.
Mountains, rivers, and forests spread beneath his feet like a vast painting.
He took a deep breath.
The air was icy, with the thinness unique to high altitudes.
But to a Sixth-Rank warrior, that slight thinness