For three days, Ragnar had watched Isabelle's "Wrecking Crew" on his phone, their lightning raids chipping away at the mall's defenses.
They'd hit guard posts, supply convoys, and ventilation systems.
They were a constant, infuriating nuisance, but the mall was a fortress, and Gorgon's numbers were immense.
"This is taking too long,"
Ragnar grumbled, slumping on his throne, which seemed to have developed a new, particularly sharp point that was digging into his lower back.
"We're bleeding him, but it's a death by a thousand paper cuts.
I'm getting bored. And when I get bored, I start thinking about using the gacha again, and nobody wants that."
Pixia zipped over to his shoulder.
"My Lord, the data suggests a war of attrition is the most statistically sound approach to minimize our own casualties."
"The data is boring," Ragnar retorted.
"I need a game-changer. I need a new variable."
