It was night.
In the area west of the second ring, ceaseless gunfire and cannon fire erupted as mercenaries fought against the swarming Variants under the cover of airstrikes and shelling.
Oddly, the north, which had been turbulent all of last night, was now eerily quiet.
From a distance of several kilometers, the Iron Forest was everywhere. Gunshots were surely inaudible, but the booming of explosions could still faintly be heard.
However, Zhao Yongxu found nothing strange about this.
A group of yokels wielding fire sticks wouldn't stand a chance against the Tide; that would indeed be a wonder.
Presumably, last night's battle had already exhausted all their strength, and by now, they were likely either swallowed by the surging Tide or had tucked their tails and fled.
Gazing at the silent night sky to the north, a hint of contempt flashed in his eyes.
"These idiots."
Not knowing enough to keep their distance was just asking for trouble.
