The classroom was plunged into confusion; everyone stood frozen. A-Lai was the first to react， flipping like a giant fish breaking the water's surface， grabbing two scattered pieces of clothing from the ground， and wielding them like short sticks. The damp clothes， in his hands， swung with such force that the ends quivered as they struck the flying discs， shattering them into twisted fragments that fell to the ground.

A-Lai's master had once demonstrated such profound inner strength. He had placed one end of a spear on an egg and the other on a stone， then lightly flicked the spear. The gentle force traveled along the spear， shattering the stone while leaving the egg intact.

Though A-Lai couldn't reach his master's level， his technique of using wet clothes to break the flying devices was nonetheless impressive. If his master saw A-Lai's performance， he would be astonished， for it had taken him thirty years to master this skill， while A-Lai had learned it in just a few years.

As the flying devices clattered to the ground， the students finally snapped out of their daze. They picked up anything they could find and began fighting the metal monsters. The strength of a hero， whether an adult or a youth， was immense. In no time， the flying assassins were struck down， scattered across the floor.

A-Lai quickly moved to the heavy wooden door， shut it firmly， and bolted it. The students instinctively gathered around him， their hero， clapping him on the back in celebration. The joy of narrowly escaping death was unimaginable. But just as they breathed a sigh of relief， a louder buzzing sound came from behind. A-Lai had no time to react， he flicked his wrist， sending the wet clothes flying， smashing three more discs， then leaped forward， shielding the students with his body， shouting，“Get down!“

Yet it was too late. A large hole had appeared in the window， and the flying assassins outside had adopted a more sinister tactic. The metal discs now split into two， with the upper disc flying out like a bullet in a parabolic arc. Sharp discs continuously flew in through the hole， some slicing into villagers' bodies， drawing sprays of blood， others embedding into the wooden walls， sending up puffs of smoke.

Seeing the dire situation， A-Lai gritted his teeth， stood up， and swung his wet clothes with all his might， desperately trying to fend off the incoming discs. His movements grew sluggish， blood gushing from his back and shoulders， staining his clothes red as new wounds reopened old ones.

As A-Lai's injuries worsened， his movements slowed， and the number of survivors in the classroom dwindled. The flying assassins outside began a suicide attack， crashing into the windows and walls， creating thumb-sized holes with the impact. Debris flew， smoke filled the room， and the shattered wooden splinters and metal fragments became deadly bullets， mowing down the remaining standing students like wheat.

Just before A-Lai lost consciousness， he felt a soft， cold hand pull him to a corner under the window， a blind spot for the shooters. Leaning against the wall， his breathing rapid and face pale， a pair of trembling hands pressed against his wound， trying to stop the bleeding. A-Lai found himself in an unprecedented predicament， a wave of helplessness washing over him. Was it all going to end here? He weakly murmured，“Find a chance… escape… find the principal…!“ He felt himself fading， but the soft hands holding his didn't let go.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

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In a classroom upstairs， the principal faced the same nightmarish scene. Outside the windows， swarms of flying killers descended like crazed hornets， launching themselves repeatedly against the wooden panels with relentless force. Each impact echoed with a low， thunderous crack， like the detonation of firecrackers， deafening and ominous. The window upstairs was riddled with seven or eight holes， yet the tireless suicide drones continued their relentless assault， wave after wave.

Inside the classroom， the principal gripped a desk with both hands， raising it high above his head as if it were a shield， desperately trying to ward off the impending danger. His face was set with grim determination， beads of cold sweat trickling down his brow， though a fierce resolve still burned in his eyes. Behind him， the physics teacher sprang into action. Despite his slight frame， he lifted a wounded student and， straining under the weight， dashed towards safety. Another villager followed closely， charging into the classroom under covering fire to rescue the next student， moving with the urgency of a battlefield medic.

As the last injured student was finally moved to safety， the flying killers outside seemed to zero in on the source of resistance. Their focus shifted， and suddenly， the principal’s makeshift shield became the prime target. Without warning， multiple drones launched from every direction， converging with deadly precision. In that instant， the impact struck with the force of an exploding shell， the air ringing with a shattering blast. The principal was hurled across the room， crashing hard to the ground. Blood spurted from his mouth， splattering across his rough-spun shirt， staining the fabric a deep crimson. Thin rivulets of blood streamed from his nose and ears， tracing down his face before dripping onto the floor， a grim testament to the carnage that surrounded him.

“Boom!” A table， riddled with holes from the bombardment， crashed to the ground near the window， making a dull thud. The window stood wide open， allowing the cold wind to howl through the room. In the dimly lit classroom， only four or five students remained， huddled in the corner beneath the window， their wide eyes fixed in terror on the shadows cast by the airborne machines outside. Each shadow seemed like the scythe of death itself， ready to sweep in at any moment and bring a swift， merciless end to everyone inside.

A few girls cowered under a nearby desk， their stifled sobs barely audible. Tears streamed down their cheeks， falling to the floor like the silent mourning of their impending fate. A male student held his head in his hands， too terrified to face the final moments. Through his trembling sobs came a timid voice，“Mom， I'm sorry!“There were only two minutes left until the countdown ended. But it wouldn’t take two minutes—just thirty seconds， and these defenseless students would be slaughtered without mercy.

“A-Lai， A-Lai!“ The girl's cries tore through the night， a sudden jolt awakening the drowsy A-Lai.

Never had A-Lai been so close to death; every moment was precious. In a flash， meaningful memories surfaced.

He recalled a warm afternoon when he had tattled on the girl next door for sneaking snacks during class. The principal had lightly scolded her in the hallway， and her angry glare was etched in A-Lai's memory. After the principal left， the girl， broom in hand， had stormed towards him， but seeing him flee in panic， she couldn't help but laugh. A-Lai would always remember her youthful， beautiful smile， like a blooming flower.

He also remembered a midday nap when he lay with his head on his arms， squinting at the scenery outside the window. The girl had glanced at him， quietly walked over， and drawn the thin curtain. At the time， he thought she was angry， not wanting him to look outside. Now he understood， she was worried the bright sunlight would disturb him.

In his heart， A-Lai shouted，“She's been caring for me all along， and I didn't know!“ Despite his grave injuries， a faint sweet smile appeared on his face.“She likes me too!“

A-Lai's heart pounded like a drum， the sobs of the girls and the sound of his own breathing filling his ears. His gaze swept the room， desperately searching for any means of escape， but every option seemed hopeless.