“I need to collect my assigned vehicle—a Warhorse T1.”

Sarah Bolton didn’t sit down either, just stood in front of the counter. The biggest difference from a bank was that there was no protective glass here—probably because no one expected that an employee coming to collect a government-issued ballpoint pen would ever attack the logistics department.

“Please wait a moment.”

The attendant checked the records, sweat beading on her forehead, because she had to say to Mr. Bolton, “I’m sorry, your administrative level is only assigned a Maglev Marlon sedan. The Warhorse T1 is a top-tier supercar with an energy shield, and only the president is allowed to drive it at the Bawang Group branch.”

“So you’re saying I can’t become president, huh?” Sarah Bolton tossed his work ID onto the counter. The scene was awkward for a moment—no employee dared to step forward to mediate, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire.

The big-eyed assistant was also in a tough spot. “Manager, please understand, your request really puts her in a difficult position. Besides, that car can only be started with the president’s fingerprint. Even if we gave it to you, you wouldn’t be able to use it.”

“Oh, I can use it, because the president’s fingerprint is right here.” As Sarah Bolton spoke, he pulled something out of his pocket—it turned out to be a bloody thumb, instantly shocking everyone present.

Next, he pulled out the president’s revolver and pointed it directly at the logistics attendant, who was nearly scared out of her wits.

“Sorry, I’m in a hurry. Give me the car and you live; refuse, and your employment contract with Bawang Group ends here and now.”

Chapter 11: Old Grudges in the Mechanical Wilderness

The thirty-seventh armor-piercing magazine had been used up, six custom electromagnetic accelerator barrels had been swapped out, and a heavy electromagnetic sniper rifle in Joan of Arc’s hands was like the scythe of death—any target caught in her crosshairs exploded instantly.

She had charged in from three kilometers away, weaving through buildings. The warplanes in the sky bombed every place she landed into ashes. The special explosive rounds made it impossible for even a cockroach to survive in the ruins, yet she survived!

A black figure, swinging her weapon, flashes of blue light appearing at any moment—she was a living symbol of warriors discarding their lives!

Those professionally trained Bawang Guard Corps soldiers were like cattle and sheep before her, just waiting to be slaughtered one by one.

“At all costs! Take the target first!”

The order came down. A hover combat vehicle burst out from a nearby shop, its massive body completely blocking the phone booth. Joan of Arc, five hundred meters away, set up her heavy electromagnetic sniper rifle, but couldn’t see a thing.

A squad of Bawang Guard Corps soldiers quickly rushed through the breach toward the phone booth, trying to forcibly take Grace Miller away.

“Think you don’t have to die just because you’re out of sight?” Joan of Arc sighed, tossing aside her weapon, and pulled a black metal frame from her back. The frame extended at both ends, instantly transforming into a black mechanical war bow.

Joan of Arc drew the bowstring to its fullest, aiming at the sky. From a hatch in her palm, she set a black arrow on the string. With a gentle release of her fingertips, the arrow whooshed straight up into the sky.

A group of soldiers had already reached the phone booth’s door, but before they could open it, hundreds of black arrows rained down from the sky. Before they could react, they were turned into human pincushions, rolling their eyes and collapsing beside the booth.

The armored vehicle couldn’t sit still any longer. Its rotating cannon quickly aimed at the slowly approaching Joan of Arc, as if to blast her to pieces.

But Joan of Arc didn’t bother drawing her bow again. With a metallic clang, the core arrow split into countless shafts like armor-piercing rounds, driving through the top of the armored vehicle.

With a thunderous explosion, the maglev combat vehicle was blasted more than two meters into the air. The driver and gunner inside didn’t even have a chance to scream—they were already reduced to ashes.

Joan of Arc stepped over the blood-soaked ground, crossing over a hundred corpses, and in the glow of the explosion, finally arrived at the phone booth.

Looking at the girl behind the blood-smeared glass, Joan of Arc smiled with relief. “Beautiful, we finally meet again. Sorry I let you slip through my fingers last time. This time, I’m taking you home.”

Inside the phone booth, Grace Miller’s body trembled uncontrollably. Her eyes weren’t on Joan of Arc; instead, her gaze was higher, fixed on the black figure appearing behind her.

“Uhh…”

Joan of Arc instantly sensed something was wrong and turned to counterattack, but a massive silver iron wall swung in from the side, swatting Joan of Arc away like a fly.

Joan of Arc flew sideways in a straight line, crashing into the still-burning armored vehicle, slamming the 20-ton combat vehicle three meters sideways, denting the impact point.

The force of the blow was even more terrifying than a 150mm cannon shell. An ordinary person would have been reduced to a puddle of mush, with nothing left to scrape up.

But Joan of Arc acted as if nothing had happened, standing up from the dented armor plate and brushing the ashes off her shoulder.

“Hammer… you’re really hard to kill, still alive, huh?” Joan of Arc greeted with a smile.

“Joan of Arc, it’s time to pay your debt.” Hammer should have been used to keeping a straight face, but at this moment, his old face was twisted with a ferocity that could have been pain or rage.