Not enough Japanese devils to kill? 1.4 billion people volunteer for the Battle of Shanghai.

The battlefield has not completely fallen silent.

Although the Kirin tank's thunderous strike destroyed the main force of the Japanese army, there were still scattered remnants of the Japanese army hiding in various parts of the ruins.

"Now," the embroiderer's cool voice rang out from inside tank number 102 via the encrypted channel:

"Begin cleaning up the battlefield."

The embroiderer's gaze swept calmly across the battlefield through the train commander's panoramic mirror, finally settling on the right side of the street, on the ruins of a half-collapsed two-story building.

There, about twenty Japanese soldiers were frantically setting up a Type 92 heavy machine gun and two Type 89 grenade launchers against the broken walls and ruins.

There was also a sergeant wearing glasses waving a sword and shouting in Japanese, seemingly organizing a final resistance.

"Target, 11 o'clock direction, ruins bunker, about 25 infantrymen, one heavy machine gun, and two grenade launchers."

The embroiderer paused for a moment.

"Switch to fire control mode to conserve ammunition."

"There's no need to use thermobaric or high-explosive bombs on twenty-five Japanese soldiers."

"Ordinary shells will do, with a time-delay fuse of 0.5 seconds."

"Target: The base of the load-bearing wall in the ruins."

The command was given, and the embroiderer's fingertip hovered over the launch button:

"I'm sending you off..." the embroiderer said softly, pressing the launch button. "On your way."

boom--!

A shell precisely penetrated the load-bearing structure at the bottom of the ruins.

But even the ordinary shells from the Kirin tank were beyond the Japanese soldiers' tolerance.

Inside the ruined bunker, the time-delay fuse detonated half a meter after the projectile penetrated deep into the bunker, releasing all the energy of the 3-kilogram TNT equivalent charge within the confined space.

Rumble—!

The entire load-bearing wall collapsed from the inside, and the second-floor structure above lost its support, collapsing with a sickening twisting sound.

Bricks, stones, wooden beams, and tiles rained down like a waterfall.

The newly erected Type 92 heavy machine gun was instantly buried, and the three Japanese soldiers operating it only had time to let out half a scream before being completely buried by tons of rubble.

The grenade launcher operator tried to escape, but the collapse was far greater than expected. Two Japanese soldiers were hit on the head by flying bricks and stones and died on the spot.

The bespectacled sergeant reacted quickly, throwing himself backward as the wall began to tilt, narrowly avoiding the main collapse zone. But as soon as he got up, his face covered in blood and ash, he saw—

The coaxial machine gun muzzle of tank number 102 had already turned towards him.

Tap tap—!

A short burst of fire.

It precisely blew the top of the Japanese sergeant's head off.

Red and white splattered onto the broken wall behind them, creating a cruel abstract painting.

"Left flank, twelve Japanese soldiers." Hub's calm voice rang out as he slightly adjusted the main gun of the Kirin Tank 103 downwards.

"boom!"

He used an armor-piercing round.

Using such a weapon against Japanese infantry was truly extravagant, but its deterrent effect was unparalleled.

Wherever the ballistic trajectory reaches, annihilation follows.

Those twelve flesh-and-blood bodies seemed to have never existed, only exploding into a fleeting cloud of scarlet mist at the point of impact.

The shockwave from the armor-piercing shell even blew up a nearby wall, revealing five more dumbfounded Japanese soldiers behind it.

They stared at the spot where their companions had vanished in an instant, then at the steel behemoth whose dark cannon was slowly turning towards them, and utterly broke down.

「Escapeげろ──! (Escape quickly!)」

"Monster——! Monster だ——!"

They threw down their weapons and screamed as they ran backwards.

However, there are always some madmen who are deeply brainwashed by Bushido.

"His Majesty the Emperor - ten thousand years old -!!!"

A hysterical roar came from behind a burning house.

Seven Japanese soldiers, bayonets at the ready, charged out of the inferno, their target the No. 101 Kirin tank.

These Japanese soldiers had unfocused eyes and distorted expressions:

"Banzai—!!!"

"For the Emperor—!!!"

Iron Anvil watched this scene from inside the car and laughed.

"Shotgun reload!"

The muzzle of tank number 101 was lowered slightly.

boom--!

A muffled thud.

Unlike the sharpness of armor-piercing rounds, and the heaviness of high-explosive rounds, shotgun shells produce a slightly muffled sound upon leaving the barrel, but the effect…

It can be described as a scroll depicting hell.

Hundreds of pre-made steel balls burst forth in a fan shape, covering a fan-shaped area of ​​nearly sixty degrees in front.

The seven Japanese soldiers who charged with "banzai" were the first to be hit.

The two ends of the first row were smashed into minced meat by the steel balls.

The five heads behind, though further away, were not spared either.

Steel balls pierced through bodies, spraying out plumes of blood. Some had their arms broken, others had their abdomens ripped open.

They screamed and fell to the ground, rolling and convulsing in pools of blood, before quickly falling silent.

Charge! Halt!

The slogan came to an abrupt end.

And then the last burst of fire from the coaxial machine gun completely disappeared into the scorched earth.

The entire street fell into a chilling silence.

The more than four hundred Japanese infantrymen who had previously surged in like a tide...

At this moment, they were all turned into corpses.

The three Qilin tanks stood silently in the center of the ruins.

Like three ancient behemoths that have just finished their hunt, they stand silently amidst mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

A wisp of smoke still rose from the muzzle, drifting slowly in the morning breeze.

Inside car number 101.

Iron Anvil sat in the conductor's seat.

The thermal image on the screen had completely turned into a cold blue and gray.

All those yellow spots have disappeared.

died.

are dead.

Three tanks, twelve crew members.

More than four hundred infantrymen, a reinforced company.

In less than ten minutes.

Total annihilation.

There were no prisoners.

There were no casualties.

There wasn't even a single intact corpse.

The anvil's breathing began to become heavy.

It's not because I'm tired.

It's because of something... welling up from the depths of my soul—

A sense of grief

He recalled the black-and-white documentaries he watched in basic training when he enlisted.

I recall the documentary footage of Chinese soldiers wearing straw sandals, carrying old-fashioned rifles, charging towards Japanese tanks and machine guns.

I recall those young faces, charred to a crisp by napalm, yet still maintaining their shooting posture.

Those images, those sounds, those memories of blood and fire, have long been imprinted in the genes of this nation, in the very bones and blood of every Chinese soldier.

They usually lie dormant, hidden by training, discipline, and the mundane routine of daily life.

But at the moment.

He was sitting inside this incredibly powerful steel behemoth from 2026.

He stood on the land of the Shanghai-Nanjing battlefield in 1937, a land soaked with the blood of his predecessors.

Those dormant memories have been awakened.

They erupted, churned, and roared in his chest like volcanoes!

On what grounds?

Why should our ancestors have to use their flesh and blood to block the enemy's steel armor 88 years ago?

Why should young lives be exchanged for only a thirty-second pause?

Why should they die in the most tragic way, while we can only read those cold numbers and pale adjectives in later textbooks?

And now, the powerful new China has returned.

They now have their own Qilin tank.

They have their own stealth fighters.

They now have their own aircraft carrier fleet.

Iron Anvil's eyes reddened.

I don't want to cry.

It's blood rushing upwards.

He suddenly pushed open the hatch on top of his head!

"Clang—!"

Iron Anvil braced himself with both hands on the edge of the hatch, used his waist and abdomen to push himself out of the narrow hatch!

He stood atop the turret of the Qilin tank, his spine straight.

Like a javelin planted in this scorched earth, never bending.

He raised his head.

Looking eastward.

I looked up at the rising, blood-red sun.

Looking at this land of China, ravaged by war for too long, weeping for too long, yet never bowing its head.

Then--

He opened his mouth.

It's not about speaking.

It's not shouting.

It was a roar.

"ah--------!!!!!!!"

The sound exploded.

Like a thunderclap!

Like a dragon's roar!

Like a dormant volcano finally erupting!

That voice contained the humiliation of a nation's century of decline and subjugation.

Even more—

Today, at this moment, we stand here, savoring the pleasure of washing this land clean with the blood of our enemies…

Not far away, the embroiderer heard the roar.

Then, she also raised her head.

He opened his mouth.

"ah--------!!!!!!!"

A woman's voice is clear and bright, yet equally powerful.

Like the clear cry of a phoenix, it pierces through the smoke of gunpowder and resonates with the roar of a dragon.

The roar echoed over the ruins on the north bank of Luodian, carrying far, far away.

It continued until January 27, 2026, when the People's Republic of China...