Chapter 673: The British Fled

It wasn't ordinary quiet, it was a death‑like silence. No gunfire, no shouts, only the crackle of burning flames and the moans of the wounded.

Yamada Ichiro slowly lifted his head.

He stared at the now‑unrecognizable position, at the flames still burning, at the corpses blown to pieces.

Then he heard a sound behind him—

The sound grew louder, drew nearer, surging like a tide.

He turned around.

The second wave of Sakura Nation soldiers, eyes blazing red, rushed onto the beachhead.

They trampled over comrades' corpses, over the blood‑stained sand, over the still‑moaning wounded, charging toward the British Army position that had been flattened by explosives.

No one shouted "Long live", no one spoke.

Only the rustle of footsteps on sand and the occasional click of a rifle bolt.

Yamada Ichiro tried to stand, but his legs were as weak as cotton. He crawled a few steps, seized a charging soldier's trouser leg, and hoarsely said,

"Take me… take me…"

The soldier glanced down at him, said nothing, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and kept charging forward.

On the British Army position, Commodore Geni crawled out of the mud.

His left ear was deafened by the blast, his right eye slashed by shrapnel, blood smeared his face. Yet he was still alive.

He stared around in bewilderment—where were his soldiers? Where was his position?

There were none.

The trench had been filled in. The machine‑gun nest was blown away. The soldiers who had followed him for three years, the ones who just yesterday smoked and chatted together, were all gone. Only a spread of shredded flesh and severed limbs, and a few still‑writhing humanoids remained.

An Indian soldier crawled to his side, shouting something. Commodore Geni could not hear—his ears were deaf. But he saw the Indian soldier's gaze, a look he had seen before—a look only a terrified person could have.

Then he saw the Sakura Nation soldiers charging from afar.

Dense and countless, like a pack of maddened beasts.

Commodore Geni reached for his sidearm, but the holster was empty—he didn't know when it had been lost.

He stood, staggered a few steps, then knelt on the ground.

Sakura Nation soldiers surged forward. A young soldier raised his rifle, bayonet aimed at his chest.

Commodore Geni stared at the soldier. The soldier's eyes were red as if about to bleed, lips tightly pressed, hand trembling.

"Come on," Commodore Geni said, his voice hoarse as sandpaper on steel, "kill me."

The young soldier froze for a moment.

Then he closed his eyes and thrust the bayonet forward.

As Commodore Geni fell, the last thing he saw was the blood‑red sand and, in the distance, the two smoking Lanfang battleships.

He wanted to say something.

But blood surged out, blocking his throat.

At eight a. m., the beachhead position was fully seized.

Yamada Ichiro was helped to a relatively level spot, where he sat down to catch his breath.

His left shoulder had been hit; the bleeding had stopped, but it hurt badly. He tore open a first‑aid kit, gritted his teeth and bandaged himself. Gauze was wrapped round after round; blood seeped out again quickly, but he could no longer worry about it.

Nearby, the adjutant was tallying the numbers.

"First Regiment, 427 killed, 306 seriously wounded. nd Regiment, 389 killed, 251 seriously wounded."

Yamada Ichiro closed his eyes.

Over eight hundred.

In just twenty minutes, more than eight hundred died.

He recalled the soldiers who had fallen beside him, the young soldier's dying gaze, the feeling of warm blood flowing over the beach beneath him.

He opened his eyes and looked at the distant British Army position. On the position, Sakura Nation soldiers were cleaning the battlefield. They dragged British corpses aside, herded the living prisoners aside, collected weapons and ammunition. No one spoke, no one laughed, just silently working.

A soldier passed by, dragging a British Army officer's corpse. The face was blown apart, but the rank insignia on the uniform was still clear—Commodore.

Yamada Ichiro watched the corpse being carried away, saying nothing.

In the distance, a landing ship was docking. The third and fourth waves of soldiers were disembarking.

A messenger ran over, panting and saluting, "Colonel! The Corps Commander orders: First Regiment, hold position, resupply ammunition, await further orders."

Yamada Ichiro nodded.

"Where is the Corps Commander?"

"On the landing ship, about to go ashore."

Yamada Ichiro rose, bearing the pain in his shoulder, and slowly walked toward the sea. He needed to see Fukuda Yataro in person, to tell him himself—that the beachhead had been taken, but at too great a cost.

By the sea, Fukuda Yataro rode a tall, maroon horse, slowly alighting from the landing ship. The seawater rose over the horse's hooves and legs, and finally the horse stepped onto the sand, onto Singapore's soil.

Yamada Ichiro stepped before him, stood at attention and saluted.

"Corps Commander, First Regiment was ordered to seize the beachhead position. 427 killed, 306 seriously wounded."

Fukuda Yataro looked at him, at the face smeared with blood, at the wounded arm hanging from his chest.

"How is your wound?"

"It doesn't hinder me."

Fukuda Yataro nodded, swung off the horse. He handed the reins to the adjutant beside him, walked to Yamada Ichiro, and placed his hand on the uninjured side of his shoulder.

"Yamada, do you know what that battle produced?"

Yamada Ichiro shook his head.

Fukuda Yataro pointed toward the direction of the two Lanfang battleships in the distance.

"You made the Lanfang see. See that Sakura Nation soldiers aren't afraid to die, see that they can fight, see that they're worth Lanfang's ship‑gun support," he paused, "From today onward, Lanfang will no longer treat us as a second‑rate force."

Shan Tian Yilang was silent for three seconds.

"Division Commander, those fallen soldiers…"

"They will enter XX Shrine," Fu Tian Yatalang interrupted him, "Each one will. The Sakura Parliament will remember them, the Heaven Locust Society will remember them. But now, the living must keep moving."

He turned and looked at the distant, faintly visible Singapore district.

"Send orders to all brigades: rest for two hours. After two hours, advance toward the district."

Two hours later, Sakura Nation soldiers began advancing toward the Singapore district.

Shan Tian Yilang walked at the front of the formation. Thick bandages were tied around his left shoulder, each step pulling pain, yet he neither rode a stretcher nor a horse, just kept stepping forward.

Behind him, more than three thousand soldiers formed a Column along the road. No one spoke, only footfalls and occasional gun‑bolt sounds.

On both sides of the road stretched dense tropical jungle—palm trees, rubber trees, thick thickets. The jungle was eerily silent, not even a bird's call.

Shan Tian Yilang raised his right hand, signaling the formation to halt.

"Recon soldiers, move forward two hundred meters to scout the jungle."

Three recon soldiers hunched and slipped into the jungle. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes— they returned.

"Report, Colonel, no enemy was found in the jungle. But… there are fresh footprints heading toward the district."

Shan Tian Yilang nodded.

Yingguo people fled.

Or rather, the Yingguo retreated into the city.

"Continue forward. Maintain vigilance."

The formation continued onward.