After more than two hours of nonstop combat, the area around Sofia's base had turned into a landscape of devastation—a battlefield recently abandoned by gods of war. The air was thick with the scent of blood, metal, and the faint trace of gunpowder, blending with the soft breeze blowing from the west as the sun began its slow descent.
Dug… Dug… Dug…
Sofia's heartbeat echoed like a heavy drum in her ears. She let herself fall onto the now-cool asphalt, the sun slanting low in the sky. Her hands, still clutching her sacred spear, slowly loosened their grip, letting the weapon fall to the ground with a soft yet weighted clang.
"Hah… hah… more than three hundred... or five hundred? I… can't count anymore..." she muttered weakly, her breath labored, but a faint thread of satisfaction laced her exhausted voice.
