The truck rolled to a stop near Jim and Amelia, its tires crunching against the gravel road. Jim squinted, raising his brows, "Is this one of ours?" he mumbled, recognizing the vehicle as one belonging to the WHA.
The truck's doors creaked open, and two heavily armored female guards, their faces concealed by sleek black helmets, stepped out, their movements precise and professional.
Jim lowered his staff but kept a wary eye on them, "Who sent you?" he asked, his tone sharp.
One of the guards, her voice calm but emotionless, replied, "Our boss, Lawrence, sent us. We received a call for backup at this location. He asked us to bring a vehicle for transport."
Jim's eyes narrowed slightly, his senses picking up their strong and pure radiant mana. These were no ordinary guards—they were A Rankers, which was as expected of Lawrence's people.
