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His gaze swept over the soldiers who, despite their scorched bodies and battered armor, still gripped their weapons and refused to retreat.
"Fall back."
He gave the order.
No one moved.
On those soot-covered faces, eyes remained fixed on the dark shapes in the sky and the distant colossus.
The ground trembled beneath his feet, and Pica heard hoarse cries behind him.
The wind soon tore those voices apart. He did not look back; his body had already sunk into the cracked soil, like a drop of water seeping into a dried riverbed.
Rock and earth churned under his will, forming a new barrier before the pursuers-even if it could only buy a single heartbeat.
A sword thrust into the scorched earth supported a swaying body.
Smoothie's breathing was as heavy as a worn-out bellows, every breath tasting of rust.
Three figures stood before her, blocking her path.
"Enough."
The speaker wore thick armor made of biscuits, a long beard hanging to his chest, his face as unremarkable as any on the battlefield.
But everyone knew what lay inside that armor-Charlotte Cracker's true body, now curled deep within that fragile sugar shell, like a nut inside its hard casing. "It's over.
Come with us."
The other voice was younger, softened by hesitation.
The fat youth was wrapped in a wool coat, his red-and-white striped scarf blown tight against his chin. "Sister,"
he called, his black hair bound into a gourd shape by a hairpin, "come back.
We'll beg Mama for mercy together..."
Smoothie knew him: Charlotte Snack, the youngest Great Swordsman in the Family.
Bracing herself on her sword hilt, she slowly straightened, her kneecaps making faint grinding sounds.
Her longsword rose horizontally once more, its edge reflecting the overcast sky.
"I appreciate the thought."
Her voice was hoarse