Night gradually receded.
A gray-white light began to emerge in the east.
Above the ruins, thick smoke still lingered.
The burnt stench mixed with the smell of blood.
The entire area looked as if it had gone through a small-scale war.
Collapsed buildings.
Overturned vehicles.
Shattered streets.
Everywhere, there were traces left behind by Grave Hound.
On the escort unit's side,
real recovery finally began.
Several armored transport vehicles were stationed at the outer safe zone.
Headlights illuminated large sections of the ruins.
Logistics personnel moved back and forth without pause.
The ground was covered with dismantled armor structures.
The air was filled with the grinding of metal
and the constant hum of tools.
A squad member leaned against a wall.
The chest plate of his combat suit had already split open.
The internal buffer layer was severely dented.
Blood slowly flowed from the corner of his mouth.
A medic beside him quickly removed the fastening unit.
"Don't breathe too fast."
"Two ribs are broken."
The soldier cursed under his breath,
but still leaned back obediently against the wall.
The next second,
a pale green light covered the wound.
The medical ability user extended a hand slowly.
The ability began stabilizing the damaged tissues.
But it wasn't healing.
It was closer to forcibly suppressing the injury—
locking a body on the verge of collapse back into place.
Sweat had already formed on the medic's forehead.
This kind of continuous stabilization consumed a massive amount of mental energy.
Especially in battlefield first aid—
there was no time for gradual recovery.
Survival came first.
Nearby,
two wounded soldiers were carried into a transport vehicle.
One of them had completely twisted leg armor.
The mechanical frame had even pierced through the support layer.
Without the suit's buffer system,
that leg would have already been destroyed.
"Fifth one,"
a logistics member confirmed quietly.
Five personnel had lost combat capability.
But at least they were alive.
That alone was already considered fortunate.
Especially against a monster like Grave Hound—
staying alive had exceeded expectations for many.
Inside the transport vehicle,
medical lights slowly turned on.
Several wounded were secured into their seats.
The door closed.
They were ready for evacuation.
They would be sent to the nearest medical facility
for further recovery.
At least for a short time,
they could no longer return to the battlefield.
On the other side of the ruins,
damaged combat suits were being rapidly dismantled.
Technicians continuously inspected the power structures.
Parts were scattered all over the ground.
Some outer armor had been pierced through.
Some mechanical joints were heavily deformed.
Some power systems sparked constantly from overload.
"Group Three left-leg thruster—destroyed."
"Group Five power transmission—abnormal."
"This outer armor set is unusable."
Voices overlapped without pause.
And the most severe case—
was still Bear.
He sat beside an armored transport vehicle.
The combat suit on his right arm had been completely removed.
The exposed mechanical frame was visibly warped.
Internal structures showed cracks.
Several connecting shafts were slightly misaligned.
That final punch earlier
had pushed the entire power system to its limit.
A reserve technician crouched beside him, inspecting.
His expression grew worse by the second.
Finally, he couldn't hold back.
"It has to go back to the factory."
"The main structure of the right arm has shifted."
"Continued use will affect overall balance."
Another technician nodded.
"The power transmission is misaligned."
"If you keep fighting under high load—"
"the mechanical frame could snap."
Bear listened quietly.
He didn't answer immediately.
He simply lowered his head
and looked at his combat suit.
Its surface was covered in cracks.
Scratches and dents remained clearly visible.
This wasn't just equipment.
It was his way of fighting.
One of the reasons he had survived this long.
The technician continued:
"This isn't something field repair can fix."
"Your suit is a custom model."
"It needs full calibration equipment."
"At minimum, you should withdraw from this operation."
A brief silence fell.
Bear slowly raised his head.
"Withdraw?"
The technician frowned.
"You going back out there now is too risky."
Bear remained silent for a few seconds.
Then he spoke slowly:
"If you withdraw the moment equipment is damaged,"
"people get used to stepping back."
The technician froze.
Bear lowered his head again
and adjusted the interface of his right arm.
His voice remained calm.
"The battlefield won't wait for you to fix your gear."
"The enemy won't give you time to prepare."
"If I can still move,"
"I keep going."
No one around him spoke.
Because they knew—
this was Bear.
He had never survived on talent.
He survived by standing at the very front.
Even if the suit was damaged.
Even if his body was near its limit.
As long as he could still move,
he would never step back.
It was no longer just a habit.
It was almost a philosophy.
Lucian stood not far away,
watching silently.
The morning wind drifted across the ruins.
The sky in the distance was gradually brightening.
He didn't stop Bear.
He didn't issue a forced withdrawal order.
Because he knew—
someone like Bear
would not change because of a command.
And right now,
the escort unit still needed him.
Lucian spoke calmly:
"Know your limits."
Bear looked up.
Their eyes met for a few seconds.
Then he gave a slight nod.
"Understood."
Lucian said nothing more.
He simply turned
and looked toward the distant ruins.
After a full night of combat,
the meaning of a surprise attack had completely disappeared.
The outer area had long been fully alerted.
Inside Cobra,
they were undoubtedly already on high alert.
Continuing a forced assault
would only escalate the risk.
Moreover,
the escort unit needed to reorganize.
Personnel condition.
Ammunition consumption.
Equipment maintenance.
Everything had to be recalibrated.
Scope remained positioned on high ground among the ruins.
His sniper rifle rested quietly across his knees.
His perception ability stayed fully expanded.
The entire night—
he had barely rested.
Yet his gaze remained steady.
Lucian walked over slowly
and stopped beside him.
"Status."
Scope replied in a low voice:
"Outer remnants are retreating."
"Inner zones are pulling back."
"Security has increased."
A brief pause.
"If we push now,"
"we'll likely enter their prepared zone directly."
Lucian nodded slightly.
It matched his judgment.
Last night could be considered a surprise attack.
Now—
they knew they were here.
Charging in blindly
would only fall into the enemy's rhythm.
And more importantly—
the truly dangerous figures
had not appeared yet.
Whether it was Viper
or Titan,
neither had shown themselves.
Grave Hound felt more like a monster released in advance—
not a core commander.
Which meant—
the real battle
might not have even begun.
In the distance, among the ruins,
several escort members were moving bodies.
Some belonged to Cobra.
Others had been killed by Grave Hound's destruction.
The scene was oppressively quiet.
After an entire night of high-intensity combat,
everyone's mental state had begun to wear down.
Even if they could still move,
their condition had declined.
Lucian looked at the gradually brightening sky
and spoke slowly:
"That's it for today."
Several people nearby looked up at once.
Lucian continued:
"Reorganize equipment."
"Assess losses."
"Evacuate the wounded first."
"We move again tomorrow."
No one objected.
Because everyone understood—
pushing forward now
had no meaning.
And they needed time
to prepare for entering the core zone.
In the distance,
the first ray of sunlight finally fell across the ruins.
It illuminated the collapsed structures.
The fires from last night had not completely died out.
Smoke drifted slowly into the sky.
And deeper within the ruins—
everything remained silent.
As if something
was waiting for them
to return.