Chapter Sixty-Seven: Confrontation with Logan

As dawn approached and the first rays of sunlight spilled over the horizon of the Golden Coast, the nightmare of night in the outskirts of France began to dissipate. The inland regions of the Golden Coast had been utterly transformed by the ravages of war into a landscape of devastation. Rotting corpses, spent shells, bloodstains, scorched earth, and lingering smoke masked the land for miles, turning the area into an abandoned wasteland.

Countless bodies of soldiers were piled into small mounds for burning, the air thick with the stench of black smoke, nauseating all who inhaled it. After a night of relentless combat, the massive beach landing operation, spanning over ten hours, finally allowed a brief moment of respite.

The five beachheads and the German forces in the French outskirts had largely been cleared. Yet, the Allied forces paid dearly for the forced assault, their losses severe. Still, waves of fresh troops arrived continually from the rear, replenishing the fighting units and even giving the impression that their strength was growing rather than dwindling.

This was only the first day of the campaign—a pyrrhic victory for the Allied forces. Ahead lay relentless battles: first to liberate France from German soldiers, then to push into German territory itself.

At daybreak, most of the Allied soldiers rested in place, making way for new units to attack and secure positions. Lieutenant Fury, his uniform stained with blood and grime, was ceaselessly busy—setting aside his rifle only to lead his troops to collect supplies and regroup.

He had just finished duties befitting a Major General, then sought out a communications officer to inquire about Kyle’s whereabouts. One man, bearing the burden of three roles.

“What? You mean Major Kyle? Last night he was at the very front lines, wasn’t he?”

“I saw him myself. Major Kyle is incredible—he wiped out the German squad that had our team pinned.”

“Absolutely. With every move, he felled several soldiers. So many Germans who encountered him screamed ‘devil’ and fled.”

“He was so fast—just a blur, and no one could keep up with him.”

Fury questioned soldiers from various units, all offering the same admiring praise but not a single clue as to Kyle’s exact movements. Still, knowing Kyle was unharmed and actively advancing at the front brought Fury peace of mind.

Despite his confidence in Kyle’s abilities, worry for his safety was inevitable—a bond true comrades share.

At the border between French territory and the inner city—the current front line—the Allied troops were still sparse. The streets of the small city showed not a single trace of German soldiers, as silent as an empty shell.

The crisp click of a lighter sounded in a corner. The tip of a cigarette flared, its owner taking deep drags and exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.

Logan sat alone atop the third floor of an abandoned building, brooding over his cigarette. At his feet lay two German rifles, picked up or taken by force, with little time for maintenance. To him, guns served only to disguise himself as a common veteran; when it came down to life and death, the claws hidden in his hands were far more reliable.

He had survived countless brushes with death over half a century, yet remained cursed with solitude, like a lone wolf unwilling but resigned to fate.

Finishing his cigarette, Logan crushed it underfoot, then drew a leather-sheathed military knife from his pocket. He removed his Soviet combat jacket, revealing a lean, powerful body with not a single scar on his bronze skin.

With practiced composure, Logan stabbed the knife into his own flesh, extracting bullets embedded within, bloodied and rolling onto the rooftop. In less than five seconds, the bullet wounds sealed up, healing before the eye.

“So this is why you prefer fighting alone—because no comrade can match you?” A steady, youthful voice sounded suddenly from behind the building.

Logan sprang up, knife in hand, eyes wild and feral, glaring toward the source. On the rooftop of another building stood a young man clad in black combat gear, calm and unhurried.

“You’re following me?” Logan demanded, his gaze icy and lethal.

“Not exactly. I just fought my way through the enemy to this spot and happened to see you,” Kyle shrugged, speaking softly. “You don’t need such hostility. We’re allies now—and, more importantly, we’re the same kind of people.”

As he spoke, Logan watched in wary surprise as Kyle accelerated, leaping forward with a force four times greater than any ordinary person, easily crossing the street below to land on Logan’s rooftop.

Logan frowned, silent for a moment before remarking, “You’re not normal, either.”

“Otherwise, how could I become a Major General at such a young age?” Kyle smiled.

He didn’t mention that, though he hadn’t been intentionally tracking Logan, he had followed a trail of enemy corpses, each marked by claw wounds. Relentlessly, he pursued—not because Logan was the Wolverine of the Avengers universe, but because Logan possessed the self-healing factor Kyle dreamed of acquiring, and an extra seventy green cards of combat skill.

A super soldier, with self-healing abilities and over a hundred green combat cards—this would bring Kyle to the pinnacle of human combat prowess.

“So who sent you? America’s five-star general? Or some lab scientist?” Logan asked coldly, wary as Kyle approached, his fists clenched, three sharp bone claws extending menacingly from each hand.

“I told you, I mean no harm,” Kyle replied, spreading his hands. But as he stepped forward, Logan’s claws fully emerged, the two standing off across five meters.

Perhaps too many bitter experiences had made Logan’s defenses extreme and volatile.

Kyle frowned slightly, watching Logan slip into lone-wolf battle stance, uncertain how to proceed.

To extract a blue ability card, he needed to be within one meter, reading uninterrupted for half an hour.

Kyle had intended to win Logan’s trust, approach as a comrade, and seize the opportunity. Now, negotiations seemed impossible.

With diplomacy failed, only a fight remained—his last resort.

Kyle knew that to defeat Logan as he was now, he would have to wager his life, and use every trick and resource at his disposal.