North line.
Above the endless clear sky, an imposing iron airship burst through the clouds, revealing the suspension bridge hanging below the prow.
Looking down at the sunken wasteland and the layered mountains, Lucien, seated in the bridge, slightly curved the corners of his mouth upwards.
He threw the ice cream stick to a servant standing by, pushed himself up from the armrests of his chair, and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window in the bridge, squinting at the closely looming Ten Peaks Mountain.
Eighty Miles of Bone Road?
Ridiculous.
In their territory, such foes were merely a matter of a bombing round followed by a charge.
If that was not enough, then the process would simply be repeated.
Perhaps this strategy wouldn't work well against increasingly numerous sticky organisms, but it was more than enough for mutants.
