CHAPTER 318: AFTER THE ASHES

The dust had barely settled when the acrid stench of burnt flesh, cordite, and scorched metal hung thick in the jagged air.

Yet, amidst this chaos, an eerie silence enveloped the battlefield.

Soldiers moved with disciplined precision, their armor glinting under the harsh light,a testament to their recent struggle.

They were alive, and that alone stiffened their backs; however, joy was absent from their expressions.

As they retracted their helmets, pale faces streaked with sweat surveyed the ground they had fought so hard to claim.

Arthur stepped down from the armored truck with a calm demeanor that belied the turmoil around him.

His boots sank into the cracked earth as his sharp eyes scanned for threats.

Every member of his family’s personal guard instinctively turned toward him, checking their rifles and gear without needing a word from him,his mere presence reminded them why they followed him.

"Casualties?" Arthur’s voice sliced through the quiet.

Gunner lifted his head from where he stood at the far side of the formation.

With his visor raised, his scarred face wore a grim but steady expression. "None, sir. A few surface hits on the suits, but our systems held."

A ripple of relief coursed through the ranks; their armor bore scratches and blackened scorch marks from plasma bursts and ricocheted shells but not a single suit had been breached.

Ethan broke through the heavy silence first.

He pushed back his visor and let out a laugh loud and deliberately cocky.

"I told you my products don’t fail! You’d all be dust if not for me,the best suits in the damn world!"

He slapped his chest plate with a metallic thud, grinning like a salesman at a trade fair.

Mireille shot him a sharp look that could cut steel. "This isn’t time for your circus act, Ethan."

Her cold reprimand drew muffled chuckles from some soldiers despite lingering tension in the air.

Ethan raised both hands in mock surrender. "Alright! No sense of humor here!"

Arthur’s lips curved slightly at this exchange while keeping his gaze fixed on what lay ahead,the battlefield stretched out before them: scattered wreckage, charred corpses, smoldering metal painted in shades of black and red,a haunting reminder of the storm they had weathered together.

Suddenly chaos erupted from behind them,the archaeologists’ truck doors burst open with a metallic crash as several civilian scholars stumbled out.

Their faces were pale and slick with sweat; eyes wide in horror.

One collapsed to his knees almost immediately, retching violently onto the dirt while another staggered away before vomiting as well,shaking uncontrollably.

The soldiers stiffened instinctively; weapons rose until they realized it wasn’t another attack but rather sheer panic spilling forth from those unprepared for war’s brutality.

The interior of the archaeologists’ truck was a scene from a nightmare.

Some were sprawled on the floor, faces ashen, while others had slumped over in terror, struggling to comprehend the horror around them.

The few who stumbled out were immediately assaulted by the acrid smell of blood and ash.

Blood pooled everywhere, a grisly carpet on the floor; brain matter splattered grotesquely around, creating a sight so revolting that even battle-hardened soldiers reeled back.

For the untrained archaeologists, overwhelmed and unprepared, it was too much to bear.

Several doubled over, retching violently until their throats burned raw.

One cry echoed as a man covered his eyes, as if he could wish the horror away simply by blocking it out.

The unsettling silence hung in the air like a heavy mist, deepening the sense of dread.

Arthur’s gaze remained cold and unwavering, his face a mask of stoic resolve.

Ethan, ever the joker, sauntered over to Clara, who stood frozen, gripping the side of the truck for stability.

Her face was pale as a ghost, eyes wide and glassy, transfixed by the carnage.

"You don’t look so good," Ethan quipped, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "First time seeing blood outside a textbook, Professor?"

Clara snapped around, flushed with rage and nausea. "Shut up, Ethan."

His grin only widened, shrugging off her fury as if it amused him.

But Mireille’s glare sliced through him like a knife, causing him to raise his hands in feigned innocence, chuckling.

"What? Just trying to lighten the mood!"

"Enough," Arthur said, and the banter died instantly.

Ethan averted his gaze, the smirk still lingering but fading as the tension thickened.

Arthur’s eyes swept over the group, scanning the soldiers and the trembling archaeologists still retching beside the truck.

His voice rose, calm but authoritative, cutting through the unease.

"We survived the first strike, but we are not safe yet. No one lowers their guard from this point on. Raise your defenses. Double the vigilance."

Every soldier perked up, their helmets snapping shut with renewed purpose.

The faint hum of sealed visors filled the air as their external systems engaged.

"Turn off internal diagnostics," Gunner barked over the comms, relaying Arthur’s orders with soldierly precision. "Full manual checks. Now!"

The squad moved like a well-oiled machine, switching to manual mode.

Systems dimmed, heads-up displays adjusted.

They meticulously checked their gear,rifles, ammunition, thruster packs.

Each soldier tapped and tightened their armor, sounding a chorus of verification. No malfunctions,no compromises.

Once the last report came in, Arthur’s voice was steady, a blade tempered in chaos.

"We move."

The remaining trucks roared back to life, their engines growling like restless beasts as they clawed at the uneven ground.

The convoy reformed, though now it was a shadow of its former self,two vehicles lay in ruins on the battlefield, smoldering wrecks twisted into grotesque shapes. They had started with six; now only four remained.

One of those trucks is the armored truck carring the shaken archaeologists, still silent and pale from the horror they had witnessed.

Arthur climbed back into the lead vehicle, his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

The jagged road wound deeper into the scarred valley, flanked by cliffs that loomed like ancient sentinels guarding secrets long forgotten.

The horizon offered no comfort,only more uncertainty awaited them.

With a rumble, the convoy pushed forward.

Inside the lead truck, tension crackled in the air.

The soldiers spoke little; their eyes darted across their surroundings while their hands gripped their weapons with unwavering steadiness.

Every bump in the road and echo off canyon walls was scrutinized for potential threats.

Outside, a barren landscape rolled by,a haunting tableau of dark stone cliffs and jagged ridges interspersed with patches of scorched earth that whispered tales of centuries-old violence. Nature itself seemed to wear scars here.

Arthur leaned back slightly, feeling the hum of the engine vibrate through him like a pulse.

His eyes never wavered; his mind was sharper than any blade as he calculated risks and possibilities with each passing second.

Somewhere behind him, Ethan was probably boasting again,trying to lighten the mood amidst chaos.

Somewhere else, Clara stared silently out the window, her thoughts tangled between fear and resolve.

And somewhere in that truck full of archaeologists, they were still swallowing back bile from what they had seen.

But Arthur remained centered and focused because he knew one thing: the battle may have ended, but the journey had not.

And ahead? The ruins waited,mysterious and foreboding. What secrets would they unveil? What dangers lurked within?