The sergeant blinked. Looked at the ring of Insectoids. Looked back at Geron. "Sir, should we pursue the—"

"If you can fight your way through that—"

Geron jerked his bleeding arm toward the advancing wall of chitin and mandibles, splattering the sergeant’s chest plate, red.

"—then by all means, be my guest."

The sergeant looked at the Insectoids again.

The Insectoids looked back.

One of them made a sound like a hydraulic press being fed a steel girder.

"Moving the wounded now, sir," the sergeant said quickly, and turned to organize the evacuation.

Geron drew his sidearm with his right hand. His left hung at his side, still dripping.

The Insectoids charged.

The clearing erupted.

Pulse fire lit the canopy in staccato bursts of blue-white, casting the iron-bark trunks into sharp, stuttering relief.

Chitin cracked and splintered under concentrated fire, but the Lowborns were built for attrition; either they absorbed or shrugged off the shots.

Mecha riders reinforcements arrived, closing the fighting power between the soldiers and the lowborns.

Around him, the reinforcements formed a loose defensive ring, covering the medics as they loaded Xavier’s rigid body onto a field stretcher. They began stumbling and desperately sprinting toward the tree line.

Lieutenant Hawn fell beside the stretcher, his remaining hand gripping the rail. His sidearm was holstered because he had no hand left to fire it with, and he fainted as he went in.

The mechas managed to clear all the lowborns around, but no sight of Ethan could be found.

...

...

Ethan watched them struggle until the end with his mini drone while he hummed a quiet tune.

"That’s anticlimactic." He murmured.

As soon as he said that, a call came through his light brain, [How was it?]

"Mission success." He reported.

The person on the other line chuckled, [I’ll be waiting in the hospital.]

"Master." Ethan quite hurriedly said, as if afraid that the other would hang up first.

Seemingly knowing his thoughts, his master replied, [Don’t worry too much. It is certain that both of you are a fated pair. You can get him from Maxwell.]

Satisfied, Ethan smiled, "I shall fulfill the end of my promise."

[I’ll look forward to it.]

Ethan looked at the establishment not too far from where he was.

"Shall I go see him now?"

○●○●

Back in the seaside estate, the game continued.

Colonel Vane might look relaxed, but his jaw was tight.

No incoming signal.

No reply from Central Command.

He had sent the request for an extraction liquid clearance that usually just took a few minutes in this kind of mission.

But no reply came.

In all his years of service, a delay this long meant only one thing.

Something was wrong.

He lifted a glass of amber liquid, but the glass only touched his lips. He lowered it without actually drinking the contents.

Thiago leaned casually over to his side, seemingly up to whisper some gossip.

He murmured without moving his lips, "You look like you swallowed a bitter medicine. What’s wrong?"

Colonel Vane kept his eyes on the table, cracking his tight neck muscles. "I need to check in with the main base. The extraction liquid permission hasn’t come through."

Thiago’s hand, which was about to take a sip of his drink, paused. "The special channel?"

Colonel Vane gave a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Thiago’s expression didn’t change. He might look like smiling, but his eyes went flat.

"That’s bad," he whispered, "Let me contact some people."

Colonel Vane gave a single nod, looked at his empty glass, which he secretly poured down his sleeves, and said, "I’m going to step out for a moment."

"Take the east terrace. Better signal reception out there," Thiago then continued with a louder voice, "Mix some for me too." For others to hear.

Colonel Vane simply nodded and excused himself. He was halfway down when someone appeared from the shadows.

Colonel Vane’s hand went to his side on instinct before his brain registered who it was.

Pete stepped into the dim corridor light.

No words were exchanged. But Pete raised his left hand and signed — three quick gestures, cleanly: Barriers. Active. All sectors.

Done.

Colonel Vane nodded, tapped his light brain once with his index finger.

A question: Comms?

Pete nodded.

They passed each other without another glance.

Back inside, Chronos had his arms folded, one ankle crossed over the other. He might look bored, but he was actually watching Helena more than so earlier.

What bothered Chronos now was the way she looked at Lilianna.

Her attentiveness, her concern, her actions became more blatantly apparent to him.

If the Zergs had taken Lilianna, he thought, his expression never shifting, who’s to say they hadn’t taken someone else?

"The card shows..." Lilianna announced in a suspenseful tone.

Her face-up card was an ace. Her nails caught the light as she tapped the felt beside her face-down card.

Lilianna revealed her face-down card.

A four.

Combined with the ace, that gave her fifteen.

The table watched as she drew again from the shoe.

A ten.

Still fifteen.

She had to draw again.

House rules demanded it.

Her hand hovered over the shoe, and Neville’s eyes sharpened.

He saw her fingertips graze the top card—a six— and then, she quickly swapped it for the card beneath.

A seven.

Fifteen plus seven.

Twenty-two.

Bust.

The table erupted in cheers.

Ciel pumped his fist, but then cried the moment he realized that he busted his cards.

Bryan smiled, showing off to Iris.

Helena collected her modest winnings, nodding.

Julius simply restacked his chips.

Neville leaned back in his chair, thinking.

She couldn’t afford to win this round.

And she couldn’t.

Because Neville had already stripped away Lilianna’s options for card manipulation.

She had also probably figured out what he was doing.

But by then, it was too late for her.

Her only remaining play was to lose gracefully or to funnel wins toward Helena, and even that would narrow down a lot with each round.

Neville glanced at the shoe and estimated the remaining cards. Six, maybe seven rounds before the deck demanded a reshuffle—unless someone called for one early.

Time to turn up the heat.