The cannon ammunition was high-grade, prepared specifically for them. Low-rank card masters died instantly, and even Sixth Order card masters were either killed or severely wounded on the spot.
"Poison Scythe" Zorass stared at his severely injured and dying team members, furious yet puzzled: how were these guys reacting so quickly?
It wasn't a spontaneous response—they had clearly anticipated their descent from the ceiling and opened fire immediately.
Realizing this, Zorass's expression darkened. After all, he was a seasoned mercenary veteran. He didn't turn back to check on his subordinates but instead opened his massive mouth and unleashed a spray of Dragon's breath toward the camp's most densely concentrated cluster of Mechanical Battle Armor.
"Crash..."
"Crash..."
"..."
A stream of viscous green poison rained down relentlessly.
