Chapter Seventy-Four: The Augmented Battle Armor Has Been Deployed

"Attack!"
The deafening roar echoed across the battlefield on the German border, as tens of thousands of Allied vanguard troops, their momentum unstoppable, broke through the tank fortifications and collided head-on with the already disorganized German forces. The clash instantly became a near one-sided slaughter.

Under a relentless hail of bullets, German soldiers fell like wheat before the scythe, row after row collapsing into pools of blood. Bereft of armored support, the German units quickly disintegrated and began a chaotic retreat, fleeing deep into their own territory.

"Kyle! Wait!" Among the charging Allied soldiers, Fury emerged at a sprint, waving as he rushed toward Kyle, who stood atop a tank.

"Fury, I'll leave this to you. I have other matters to attend to—let's meet in Berlin in a few days." Kyle removed his Venom headgear and nodded toward Fury a few meters away. Then, with agile grace, he leapt from the tank and merged with the advancing Allied troops storming into Germany.

By the time Fury, panting, reached the tank and glanced around, Kyle was already lost in the sea of soldiers.

"That Kyle, never one for leading troops—always running off somewhere..." Fury sighed, resigned. Yet Kyle always appeared at the most critical moments, often single-handedly turning the tide. That was more than enough.

On another front, Kyle's presence, his aura as a war hero, exerted enormous psychological pressure on enemy soldiers, while inspiring and uplifting his own. This was the irreplaceable role of a super hero on the grand stage of war.

Kyle ran from the battlefield where Allied and German forces clashed, following Blue Eagle's aerial guidance. Once inside German territory, he headed swiftly toward a nearby mountain.

Moments later, Kyle reached the dense forest at the mountain's base and paused, his gaze scanning the area. The small path leading up the mountain was strewn with battered trees and grass, the ground marred by smooth claw marks and fresh blood, stretching all the way to the summit.

From above, the sounds of battle drifted down, carried by the mountain breeze, clear to his ears.

"Lone Wolf, Sabretooth," Kyle murmured, setting off up the mountain. Soon, the deadly duel atop the peak came into view.

On the summit, hundreds of meters above, sparse trees grew, with a sheer cliff on one side.

On the open ground near the cliff, Logan and the hulking brute each extended their unique bone claws. The two, wild as humanoid beasts, crashed together with fierce strength, their claws leaving deep, gruesome wounds in each other's flesh—wounds that healed in moments.

Both possessed mutated beast genes and regenerative abilities. Logan and Sabretooth's battle was brutal and bloody, neither yielding, each fighting with all his might. Unless one died or fled, the duel would not end.

When Kyle arrived at the summit, both Logan and Sabretooth quickly glanced at him. Logan, seeing Kyle, calmly returned his focus to the fight, his expression unchanged, cold and resolute. Sabretooth, however, paled, his broad, rugged face contorting as his attack faltered, nearly allowing Logan to gut him.

Facing Logan alone, Sabretooth was confident he had a sixty to seventy percent chance of victory. But with Kyle—clearly siding with Logan—his chances vanished.

Sabretooth rolled painfully across the ground, his fierce, wary eyes watching Kyle. Seeing Kyle stand with arms folded, five meters from the fight, showing no sign of intervening, Sabretooth relaxed a little.

"What’s wrong? Against you, I don’t need Kyle’s help." Logan glared coldly at Sabretooth, his eyes bloodshot with hatred, raising his wolf-like claws. "I’ll kill you myself, here and now!"

"You said it yourself," Sabretooth sneered, rising from the ground as if unharmed. In seconds, the claw wounds on his belly had already healed.

He growled, his massive frame lunging forward. Logan crossed his arms to block, but was sent flying like a broken kite, blood spraying as he tumbled across the ground before coming to a stop.

"You thought I was using my full strength? Just testing you," Sabretooth taunted, striding forward to press his advantage before Logan could rise.

"After all these years, you still haven’t learned? Sabretooth stands atop the natural genetic food chain—a superior predator to you, little wolf!" With that, Sabretooth grabbed Logan by the collar as he struggled to his feet.

Logan was strong by normal standards, but beside the nearly two-meter-tall Sabretooth, he was dwarfed.

Sabretooth hoisted Logan with one hand, forming a fist with the other, repeatedly punching and stabbing his claws into Logan’s abdomen. The savage assault splattered blood, and even Logan’s healing struggled to keep pace with the damage.

Kyle watched from nearby, shaking his head, though not surprised. Logan, not yet infused with adamantium, was far from the Wolverine he would become; defeating Sabretooth alone was simply unrealistic.

Sabretooth’s gene, though only blue-rank rare, happened to counter Lone Wolf’s abilities, boasting superior beast physique and strength—traits time and skill could not overcome.

"Logan, looks like you’ll need some help," Kyle shrugged, a faint smile on his lips.

During their negotiation, Logan insisted on killing Sabretooth himself, refusing Kyle’s direct involvement. But he hadn’t said anything about a little assistance…

"Venom. Go help Logan," Kyle patted his suit. As if understanding, Venom split from the chest emblem into strands of black liquid, bouncing toward Logan’s battle.

Once Venom left, Kyle was dressed only in a casual short-sleeved shirt and pants—planned in advance.

In the fight, Sabretooth, holding the struggling Logan, ceased his clawed punches and threw him toward the cliff.

As Logan hurtled toward the edge, a mass of black liquid shot out, enveloping him in a tough, black suit.

The next moment, wings unfurled from his back. Logan, clad in the suit, twisted midair and glided back to the summit.

"Venom suit fully deployed. Combat support system activated."

Kyle, with a bored remark, leaned against a tree, less a participant in war or dueling than a leisurely spectator, patiently awaiting the dramatic contest to unfold.