On G-03 Core Floating Island, Han Feng disembarked from the airship and was led by an officer into a Quiet Chamber.
The cold alloy walls blocked out the noise from outside, as well as the reek of gunpowder.
The room, less than five square meters, contained only a fixed metal table and a hard plank bed.
Han Feng sat alone at the table, his fingers unconsciously drumming against the cold metal surface, producing a monotonous TAP, TAP sound.
The cold, white light shone on Han Feng's face, caked with blood and ash, illuminating a morbid pallor.
From outside, he could faintly hear the groans of the wounded, the hum of machinery, and the resonant, powerful footsteps of Garrison Army soldiers.
But to Han Feng, it all sounded distorted, as if coming from a great distance.
He sat slumped in the lone metal chair, his gaze unfocused, his fingers drumming unconsciously on the cold tabletop.
The monotonous TAP, TAP echoed in the deathly silent room.
