Chapter 92

As dawn gradually creeps in, the first rays of sunlight cast down from the golden coast, causing the nightmare-like darkness to dissipate in the outskirts of France.

The golden coast, now thoroughly imbued with the scars of war, presents a desolate wasteland of decay, with rot and death, spent shells and cartridges, and the ashes of the fallen littering the land for miles.

Uncountable soldierly remains have piled high, incinerated into miniature mountains, while the air wafts with the pungent scent of smoke, sickening to the senses.

One night passes, and the massive war, which has lasted for hours, finally sees a brief reprieve. The five beachfronts and the outskirts of France have been cleared of the German forces, though the Allies' forced beach assault came at a heavy cost. But with more troops being transported from the rear and more reinforcement on the way, their numbers seem to only increase.

This marks the first day of the battle, where the Allies emerged as the victors, however pyrrhic. The pace of the battle must be quickened as they aim to completely infiltrate France, rid the lands of German soldiers, and then strike into the heart of Germany itself.

Early in the morning, the majority of the soldiers in the Three Kingdoms Alliance rested in place, replacing the attacking and defensive troops.

Captain Fury, covered in blood and stains, bustled around. Just as he laid down his rifle, he commanded his troops to receive supplies and rest.

While he just finished commanding as a lieutenant colonel, he found a messenger soldier to inquire about news of General Kyle.

Holding three jobs in one, a true leader.

"What, you say Major General Kyle? I heard he was at the forefront of the combat zone last night."

"I saw him last night too. Major General Kyle is truly strong, he single-handedly stopped and annihilated the German troops that were blocking our combat team."

"Yes, with every step, he killed several soldiers. I wonder how many German soldiers screamed of the devil and fled when they encountered him."

"His speed is too fast. Only a glimpse of his figure and one can never catch up again."

Fury queried various American soldiers from different units, but all he received were flattering words of adoration and admiration, with no concrete information about their whereabouts.

Nonetheless, he was relieved to know that Kyle was unharmed and actively participating in the forefront of the thrusting battle.

Despite his belief in Kyle's prowess, Fury still couldn't avoid worrying about his safety and well-being, perhaps a testament to the true camaraderie of being a comrade-in-arms.

The frontier of French territory and its inner cities, currently the frontlines of the battle, were at the junction.

The attacking Allied forces of the three nations were still sparse in this area, with not a single trace of a German soldier in the quiet, seemingly deserted streets of the small towns.

The sound of a lighter crackled and after the spark of a cigarette was lit, its owner took several deep drags, exhaling a large plume of smoke.

Logan sat atop the third floor rooftop of a decrepit building, brooding as he puffed on a cigarette, his feet propped up by two German rifles that appeared to have been scavenged or pilfered, with little care given to their maintenance.

To him, the firearms were only a facade, masking his identity as an ordinary veteran, for in the heat of mortal combat, it was the claws concealed within his grasp that were the more trustworthy weapons.

Yet, after living half a century, surviving countless battles and fatalities, he remained cursed with solitude, living on like a lone wolf and a defeated hound, unwilling yet yielding to fate.

After finishing his final drag, Logan flicked the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out, reaching into his pocket for a sharp military knife sheathed in leather. He then shed his Soviet combat jacket, revealing his toned and rugged physique, unmarked by any scars on his coppery skin.

Almost routinely, Logan calmly wielded the knife and repeatedly plunged it into his body, extracting one bullet after another, the edges stained with blood and rolling onto the balcony floor.

Within five seconds, the bullet hole self-healed to its former state, visible to the naked eye.

"Is this why you prefer to operate alone and say no ally can match you?" A steadfast and youthful male voice echoed from a building behind.

Rogan sprang to his feet, his hand gripping a military knife with bestial eyes glaring toward the source, only to behold a youth, garbed in black combat attire, poised nonchalantly atop another edifice.

"Have you been tailing me?" Rogan asked, his gaze bearing a glimmer of frigid malevolence.

"Not really. I just happened to stumble upon you after eliminating the enemy all the way here," Kyle shrugged. "You need not harbor such animosity toward me. We are now allies, and-- we are of the same kind."

As he spoke, Kyle stepped forward with a quick acceleration and, with a bound surpassing four times that of an average human, effortlessly crossed an aerial distance of a street, landing on the rooftop where Rogan was.

Rogan furrowed his brow, fell silent for a moment, then evaluated, "Your physique is not of a normal human being."

"Otherwise, how could one attain the rank of a Major General at such a youthful age?" Kyle smiled.

In truth, he did not speak; although he was not intimately familiar with the enemy soldier who was killed by the marks of claws, he had followed the trail of their corpses.

Pursuing without faltering, it was not because the other party was Wolverine in the world of the Avenger's Alliance.

In fact, whether the other party was Wolverine or not was immaterial. What mattered was that they possessed the self-healing factor, a capability coveted by Kyle, and an additional seventy green combat technique cards!

A super soldier, coupled with the self-healing factor, and hundreds of green combat cards, would enable Kyle to attain the pinnacle of human ideal combat capability.

"Who sent you? The five-star General of the United States? Or some scientists from a research laboratory?" Logan wary of Kyle's approach, his hands clenched into fists, with three sharp bone claws jutting out menacingly from his knuckles.

"I've said it, I have no ill intent," Kyle spread his arms, but as he stepped forward, Logan had already fully extended his bony claws and was confronting him from a distance of five meters.

Perhaps due to an overwhelming amount of traumatic experiences, the man before him had an excessively extreme and fervid defensive mentality.

Kyle furrowed his brow slightly, observing the man - who had transformed into a lone wolf - and was momentarily uncertain on what to do.

To extract the blue ability card, one must enter within a meter range and continuously read for half an hour without interruption.

Kyle had initially wanted to approach the man and assuage his defenses as a comrade, entering within a meter range to attempt the reading. However, it seems that communicating with the man in his current state is too arduous.

If communication fails, there would be no other choice but to resort to combat. This was the final, forced option.

Kyle was acutely aware that in order to defeat the man with his current abilities, he would have to bet his life and exhaust every means of preparation at his disposal.