Chapter 476: Zuoteng Is Afraid

"Yes."

Huo Reshao gave the battlefield one last glance. The Korean soldier holding a Sakura Nation army sword was crouched beside a corpse, pulling the identification tag from the corpse's neck and slipping it into his pocket. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if completing some ritual.

"Send orders to the frontline supervising Sakura Nation officers," Huo Reshao added, "tell them… to be careful. Don't provoke those beasts."

He set down the binoculars and turned away from the observation post. Outside, the sky remained overcast, and sporadic artillery fire came from the Somme direction, sounding like the heartbeat of a dying giant.

This war was far more complex than he had imagined. It was not merely a clash between nations, nor just a standoff of trenches and steel. There were deeper forces—ethnic hatred, colonial backlash, the oppressed's fury—once unleashed, they would alter the very nature of the war.

And all of them were playing with fire.

In the trench, Jin Shunzhi strung the seven Sakura Nation soldiers' identification tags he had collected on a piece of wire and hung them on his belt. The metal tags clanged against each other, producing a crisp sound. Each clang represented a life.

Li Chengcan walked over and handed him a water flask. "Found it on a Sakura Nation officer—sake."

Jin Shunzhi took it, gulped a large mouthful. The strong liquor burned his throat, making him cough violently, tears spilling out.

"Take it easy," Li Chengcan said, "the days are still long."

"Long?" Jin Shunzhi wiped his mouth, "we might not survive this afternoon."

"Then kill a few more." Li Chengcan's voice was calm, "One kill covers the cost, two kills earn one. Anyway…" He looked toward the eastern sky, though mountains and rivers lay between, "Anyway, our lives have long been worthless."

Jin Shunzhi fell silent. He touched the identification tags at his waist, then the talisman in his chest and Yong Hao's iron box. Mother, Yong Hao, everyone who died here… their lives were all worthless.

But at least he could make their deaths worth something.

"Chengcan," he said, "next charge, we'll stay as close as possible."

Li Chengcan nodded, "Alright."

The two sat side by side in the trench, listening to distant artillery and waiting for the next wave of attack to begin. The dark clouds overhead grew thicker, a winter rain was brewing. Rain would wash away blood and bury bodies, but it could not dilute hatred nor bury memory.

On the other side of the front, deep within the Degjun defensive line, a Degjun staff officer set down his binoculars, his complexion grim.

"Sakura Nation X Division, Fifth Regiment, First Company… all members shattered."

"Those Koreans have gone mad," another officer said, "they're like beasts."

"Report the situation to headquarters. Also… when will our new equipment reach the front?"

"Tonight. Thirty Model‑1 tanks, shipped from Cologne."

"Very good. Tomorrow, let those beasts see what a real war machine is."

The staff officer raised his binoculars again, looking toward the corpse‑strewn no‑man's land. The wind blew, lifting fragments of shattered uniforms like flags summoning spirits.

The seed of hatred had already been sown; now the steel would take the stage.

And this war had only just begun.

Cold rain fell at midnight.

At first, fine drizzle pattered on the trench's corrugated steel plates, producing a monotonous tap‑tap. By two a. m., the rain intensified, large drops hammering the mud, washing yesterday's slaughter's bloodstains into a pale‑red stream that wound through craters and pooled in lower depressions.

Jin Shunzhi curled up in a half‑collapsed artillery shelter, wrapped in a raincoat he had torn from a Degjun corpse. Rainwater dripped from the edge of the opening, forming a small puddle at his feet. He could not sleep, his eyes open in the darkness, staring at the seepage marks on the shelter wall.

The wire of identification tags at his waist clinked occasionally, emitting a faint metallic tinkle. Seven tags. Seven Sakura Nation soldiers' lives. He should have felt the thrill of vengeance, but his chest held only a cold numbness. Yong Hao's corpse still lay two hundred yards away in the no‑man's land, among thousands of other bodies, slowly stiffening, discoloring, rotting in the rain.

"Shunzhi."

A low voice came from the opening—Li Chengcan's. Jin Shunzhi shifted his body, giving up half a space. Li Chengcan squeezed in, drenched, the bandage on his left arm darkened to a deep red from the rain.

"Changed posts?" Jin Shunzhi asked.

"Yeah. The third squad takes over the second half of the night." Li Chengcan leaned against the shelter wall, pulled half a compressed biscuit from his chest, broke it in two and handed it over, "Eat. Not sure if we'll get a proper meal today."

The two silently gnawed the biscuit. The coarse grain, mixed with rainwater, felt like chewing sand.

"I was at the observation post a moment ago," Li Chengcan suddenly said, "and saw movement behind the Degjun defensive line."

"What movement?"

"Lights. Vehicle lights. Lots of lights coming from the rear road, entering their forward positions." Li Chengcan paused, "Not ordinary trucks; the sound is off. The engine roar is deeper, more… heavy."

Jin Shunzhi frowned, "Tank?"

"Possibly. But it doesn't sound like the Yingguo tanks we've encountered." Li Chengcan chewed through the biscuit in a few bites, "In any case, today won't be easy. The supervisors' troops were especially nervous this morning, firing more ammunition than usual, and even gave each a small bottle of sake for the first time."

"Liquid courage," Jin Shunzhi sneered.

Footsteps sounded outside the shelter, and Lieutenant Zuoteng's voice rang through the rain: "All squads! Assemble! Prepare for battle!"

The two exchanged a glance, shoved the last bit of biscuit into their mouths, grabbed their rifles, and rushed out of the artillery shelter.

At four a. m., the sky remained pitch‑black, the rain easing slightly. The second trench was packed with survivors—nearly two thousand yesterday, fewer than twelve hundred could stand today. Every face bore fatigue and a suppressed restlessness. After yesterday's bloody close‑quarters fight, something had changed. The Cao County soldiers no longer kept their heads fully down; in their eyes toward the Sakura Nation supervisory team, fear had lessened, replaced by a cold, hard hostility.

Zuoteng clearly noticed the shift. Today he stood closer to the supervisory team's machine guns, his hand constantly on his holster, his gaze sweeping each face as he spoke.

"Today's operation plan!" he shouted in halting Japanese, and a translator beside him repeated in the Cao County dialect, "Our forces will again attack the Degjun third defensive line! Objective: seize the line and consolidate the position! The assault will commence at seven o'clock sharp! Advance following the tanks! No unauthorized charges! Those who disobey—"

He paused, as if recalling that yesterday no one obeyed orders, "Military law will be applied!"

No one responded. Only the sound of rain.

"Check weapons! Resupply ammunition!"

A ammunition box was brought in. Each person received sixty rifle rounds, two grenades, and that small bottle of sake. Jin Shunzhi twisted off the cap, tipped it back, and downed it. The strong liquor burned his throat, giving a false warmth. He tossed the empty bottle into the mud.