Chapter 682: Another Over Twenty Thousand Dead

The soldier lifted his head, his eyes rimmed with red. He opened his mouth, seemed about to speak, but in the end said nothing and turned and walked away.

Colonel Yamada kept chewing the rice ball.

He recalled the new recruit Tanaka Ichiro from three days ago. The kid had followed him into the first building, killed the first enemy, and had been like a puppet ever since. He didn't know if he was still alive.

He also remembered the twelve thousand people who died on Bendet Mountain.

Now, Kuala Lumpur is about to lose another twenty thousand.

He finished the rice ball, brushed the grains off his hands, and stood up.

"Gather."

Three hundred twenty‑one people stood up, silently forming three rows. No one complained, no one lingered; they just stood there, waiting for the next order.

Colonel Yamada walked up to them, looking at those faces—fatigued, filthy, hollow, numb.

"The British can't hold on," he said, "One more day of fighting, and Kuala Lumpur will be ours."

No one cheered. No one was excited.

"Check the ammunition. In ten minutes, we continue the assault."

The soldiers dispersed, each checking their gear. Some loaded bullets into their rifles, some tested whether their bayonets were sharp, some strapped the last grenade to their waist.

One soldier suddenly spoke, "Colonel, may I ask a question?"

Colonel Yamada looked at him.

"Ask."

"If we win, can we go home?"

Everyone halted their actions and looked at Colonel Yamada.

Colonel Yamada remained silent for a long time.

Then he said, "I don't know."

The soldier was stunned for a moment, then laughed. That laugh was uglier than crying.

"Not knowing is fine. If we knew, we wouldn't know how to live."

Commodore Genni, when he crawled out of the ruins, found only a dozen or so people left around him.

His command post had been breached two hours earlier. He retreated with his guards through a back gate, crossed three streets, and was finally pinned down in this bomb‑collapsed residential house.

The surrounding was filled with gunfire. The cries of Sakura Nation soldiers rose and fell, getting closer and closer.

A young Lieutenant scrambled to his side, his face smeared with blood, his left arm already broken and haphazardly bound with a bandage. He gasped, "General, we are surrounded. Enemies are on all sides."

Commodore Genni nodded.

He leaned against the broken wall, fished out his sidearm, and checked the ammunition—six rounds left.

"General," the Lieutenant said again, his voice trembling, "We… we should surrender."

Commodore Genni looked at him.

The child was under twenty‑five, golden hair stained dark red with blood, blue eyes full of terror. Their hands trembled, their lips trembled, the whole body shook.

Commodore Genni was silent for three seconds.

Then he said, "Fine."

The Lieutenant was stunned.

"General, you…"

"Go tell them we surrender," Commodore Genni threw his sidearm to the ground, "and make them cease fire."

The Lieutenant scrambled out, shouting something in English. The gunfire gradually ceased.

A few minutes later, a squad of Sakura Nation soldiers surrounded them. They raised their rifles, bayonets flashing in the sun, faces full of fatigue and madness.

Commodore Genni stood, tidied his uniform, donned his hat, and slowly walked out of the ruins.

He saw those Sakura Nation soldiers—each looking as if they had just crawled out of hell. Some were drenched in blood, some had bandages wrapped around their heads, some had eyes full of blood vessels. The officer at the front had a thick bandage around his left shoulder, his face gaunt like a skull, but his eyes—those eyes were like a wolf's, staring at him unblinking.

"Are you the commander?" the officer asked in halting English.

Commodore Genni nodded.

"I request a meeting with your army's supreme commander."

The officer looked at him, then smiled briefly. That smile sent a chill down Commodore Genni's spine.

"A meeting, but not now."

He turned aside, said something to the soldiers behind him. A few soldiers rushed forward, pinned Commodore Genni to the ground and bound his hands behind him with rope.

Commodore Genni struggled to lift his head: "You… you can't do this! I'm an officer! According to the Geneva Convention…"

The officer crouched down, looking at him.

"General," he said, pointing at the surrounding ruins, at the twisted corpses, at the still‑smoking buildings, "look at these. Do you think any conventions still matter now?"

Commodore Genni opened his mouth but could not speak.

The officer stood, turned, and left.

Behind them, Sakura Nation soldiers began searching the ruins, dragging out the surviving British Army soldiers one by one. Some who resisted were stabbed to death by bayonets on the spot. Some who begged for mercy were kicked down, bound, and tossed aside.

Commodore Genni knelt on the ground, watching it all.

He saw the young Lieutenant being dragged out, tied beside him. The child was drenched in blood yet still laughing—that laugh seemed as if finally released.

"General," he said, "we survived."

Commodore Genni said nothing.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes.

In the distance, on the largest square in central Kuala Lumpur, a rising sun flag was being hoisted.

At four p. m., the gunfire finally ceased.

Colonel Yamada stood at the edge of the central Kuala Lumpur square, watching the rising sun flag. Beneath the flagpole lay a pile of corpses—British, Sakura Nation soldiers, and a few civilians—heaped together like discarded trash.

The deputy officer ran over, holding a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

"Colonel, the preliminary figures are ready."

"Read."

"First Division, 7,423 killed. Second Division, 6,851 killed. Third Division, 5,107 killed. Fourth Division, 3,829 killed."

First Lieutenant Shan Tian Yi Zuo said nothing.

The deputy officer continued reading: "Wounded not counted. Captured British Army about 12,000, including 407 officers, among them one Commodore and three Colonels…"

"Enough."

The deputy officer stopped.

First Lieutenant Shan Tian Yi Zuo watched the soldiers sweeping the battlefield. They dragged the corpses, one by one, lining them up. Some were British Army, some were their own, mixed together, impossible to tell who was who.

A soldier crouched beside a corpse, clutching his head, his shoulders trembling. That was his comrade, who had been smoking together yesterday, and today had become a cold body.

Another soldier sat on the steps, raising a water bottle to drink. After two sips, he suddenly threw the bottle to the ground, squatted down and vomited. When he finished, he picked up the bottle again and kept drinking.

No one spoke.

The whole city was silent.

Footsteps came from behind. Shan Ben Yi Fu walked to his side, also staring at the rising sun flag on the square.

"Did you receive the casualty report?"

"Received."

Shan Ben Yi Fu was silent for a few seconds.

"Twenty-two thousand," he said, "two thousand more than expected."