Nothing Was of Any Use

(The third update came late. I cut the chapter several times before finally being somewhat satisfied.)

After saying that, Lindeck, who was struggling to sit up, looked at Falcon as if he were looking at a dead man.

"Stop pretending you're so badly hurt. At most, you coughed up a little blood. If I'd put any force into it, I'd have kicked you to death already." Falcon casually waved a hand, then turned to shrug at Mu Fan. "Kid, looks like this trial isn't over yet. But I trust you've gained a deeper understanding of this fucked-up world."

Mu Fan looked at Falcon awkwardly. "I understand now, but those mechas..."

He pointed at the eight heavy mechas beside them—the Titan's Arms.

The implication was obvious. Did their current situation mean they could only run?

The massive mechas, painted in desert camouflage, began spinning their pitch-black Vulcan Cannons with a hum.

An immense pressure immediately descended.

Lindeck had been right. Before terrifying war machines, individual strength was nothing more than a joke.

"Oh, mechas. Sixth-generation Titan's Arms. How scary."

After saying that, Falcon yawned, his expression utterly listless.

The smile on Lindeck's face froze.

Why was he still so confident after seeing eight mechas?

Why hadn't he shown the fear Lindeck had expected?

At that moment, Aunt Long, who had the more volatile temper, spoke up directly. Frowning toward the other side, she said, "Enough, Falcon. Your terrible acting is too much for me to watch."

"I knew this wouldn't go smoothly. You people who've fought for a few years are practically forgetting your own names." Ignoring the mechas closing in, Falcon smiled at Mu Fan. "Kid, did you notice we're missing someone? Poor guy... Tank! Showtime!"

Boom!

The roof of the super-heavy truck's cargo compartment shot straight into the sky.