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

Inside the two-story building.

Li Dajiang leaned against the cold wall, panting heavily.

His chest heaved violently, like a broken bellows.

That last strike used almost all of his strength.

When he chopped down, he didn't think about holding back.

I never thought about how much strength I still had left to draw back.

Now, the wound on my left arm has reopened due to excessive force, and blood is flowing down my arm.

"Class monitor!"

The bolt climbed over from the corner of the wall.

He was clutching a tattered rag in his hand.

"I...I'll wrap it up for you..."

Shuanzhu's voice was choked with sobs.

Its eyes are red, like a little rabbit's.

Li Dajiang tried to wave his hand and say no.

But his right hand, which was halfway up, sank back down.

It's too heavy.

It felt like it was filled with lead.

He could only let Shuanzhu clumsily and carefully wrap the rag around his wound.

The cloth strip was wrapped around the neck.

The hand holding the pole trembled violently, and he missed several times, causing the cloth strip to slip off.

He sniffed, wiped his tears with his sleeve, and wrapped it up again.

Two laps.

Three laps.

Each loop is tightly wrapped.

The embolus might loosen and fall off, or it might not be tight enough to stop the bleeding.

But he was also worried that if it was too tight, it would hurt the class monitor.

So every time he wrapped the cord around his neck, he would look up at Li Dajiang's face.

See if he frowns or clenches his teeth.

Li Dajiang did not.

He simply leaned against the wall, his one eye slightly squinted, watching Shuanzhu.

Looking at this sixteen-year-old child.

"Alright." Li Dajiang finally caught his breath, his voice hoarse like sandpaper grinding iron. "Shuanzhu, that's enough."

The bolt didn't stop.

He tied a knot that was impossible to untie.

Then he raised his head.

"Class monitor..."

His voice was soft, with a heavy Henan accent:

"Does it hurt?"

Li Dajiang looked at him.

Then, he reached out his right hand and gently rubbed Shuanzhu's messy, dusty hair.

The hands are large, but the movements are very gentle.

There is warmth in that one eye.

"It doesn't hurt."

He said.

It actually hurt terribly...

Shuanzhu looked at him, and tears welled up in his eyes again.

He knew the class monitor was lying to him.

He knew the squad leader was in a lot of pain.

But he didn't say anything.

He simply nodded and gave a strong "hmm".

"It's very quiet outside."

Old Gun's voice suddenly rang out.

He peeked halfway out from the shadows by the doorway, his brows furrowed deeply, like the crisscrossing lines carved by a knife.

"Those little devils... probably won't give up on this place."

Li Dajiang listened intently.

indeed.

The streets were eerily quiet.

Like the silence before a storm.

Li Dajiang's heart sank.

"not good."

He struggled to stand up.

The wound was aggravated, causing him to break out in a cold sweat, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to stand up.

He walked to the door, pressed himself against the door frame, and looked out with his one eye.

Beyond the ruins.

Those earthen-yellow figures are still there.

They didn't leave.

There was no attack either.

only……

What are you preparing?

Li Dajiang couldn't see clearly.

But he knew that the Japanese were definitely plotting something bad.

Outside the small building, behind the broken wall.

Private First Class Ota stood in front of twenty-three Japanese soldiers, his whole body trembling.

Three hand grenades were clipped to his belt.

The private had his head down, and his lips were moving.

"To be loyal to the Emperor..."

then.

He turned around.

They ran towards the small building.

The remaining twenty-two Japanese soldiers set up their rifles.

Twenty-two gun barrels protruded from every crevice of the ruins.

The dark muzzle of the gun was pointed at—

It's not a small building.

It's Ota's back.

Squad leader Koji Ishida squatted at the front, holding a Mauser pistol in his hand.

His eyes were fixed on Ota's back.

Staring at his khaki military uniform, he leaped among the ruins.

Staring at his trembling back.

No one gave the order to fire.

But the gun barrels were all pointed at the same Japanese soldier.

If he dares to run.

If he didn't run towards the small building.

If he turns around and runs back—

A bullet would instantly riddle him with holes.

Ohta is running.

Running faster and faster

He was so fast that he didn't even realize he could run that fast.

ten meters.

Twenty meters.

Getting closer.

Getting closer.

He could already make out the outline of the small building.

Now you can see that dark, gaping door clearly.

Ota's legs suddenly went weak.

He thought of his pregnant wife in Hiroshima.

He knew himself—

He's about to die.

Sudden.

"Bang--!"

A shot rang out.

A large hole appeared in Ota's chest, and blood kept gushing out.

But before he died, the private threw out the three grenades that were tied together!

"boom--!!!"

The three grenades tied together exploded less than two seconds after landing!

Gravel flew everywhere, and dust filled the air!

The bluestone wall of that century-old house was forcibly torn open!

The crack extended upwards from the corner of the wall, like an ugly scar.

Koji Ishida peeked his head out from behind the broken wall.

He was taken aback at first.

Then, a smile slowly spread across his face.

The grin stretched all the way to the base of his ears.

"Hahahaha!"

He laughed out loud.

"Ota! Ota-kun!"

"You did it! You really did it!"

He pointed at the small building, at the crack, and roared at the soldiers behind him:

"Did you see that?! It exploded! It exploded!"

"I originally thought it would take the lives of three people to blast open a gap!"

"Ohta did it all by himself!"

He looked at Ota's corpse, and his smile became even more twisted.

"Good riddance."

"Private Ota."

"Your wife—"

"I will take good care of you!"

He whirled around and roared at the Japanese soldiers still crouching in the ruins behind him:

"Everyone has it!"

"Prepare for a surprise!"

"From that gap—"

"Charge in!"

Inside the small building.

The shockwave from the explosion made the entire building tremble.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

The gravel hit the door frame with a "crackling" sound.

The smell of gunpowder wafted in from the newly blasted crack.

It's spicy, pungent, and makes you want to cough.

Li Dajiang did not cough.

He didn't even move.

He just stood there.

Standing in the doorway.

He held the tiger-headed broadsword in his hand.

The blood from Nakamura on the blade hadn't completely dried yet.

Now, it's covered in mud and dust from the explosion.

He didn't look at the crack.

They didn't look at the gap that was about to be breached by the Japanese soldiers.

He turned around.

Turn around and look into the small building.

At the operating table.

The angels are still busy.

The cone-shaped beam of light cast by the shadowless lamp remained bright and stable.

Like a barrier.

This isolates the small area around the operating table from the hellish battlefield outside.

She had just finished treating the soldier with the abdominal injury.

The man lay on the cot next to him, breathing steadily, asleep.

She is now cleaning the wounds of another injured person.

He was a young soldier with a deep wound on his thigh from shrapnel, the flesh turned inside out, a gruesome sight.

Beads of sweat, fine and glistening, were already forming on the angel's forehead, slowly trickling down her brow bone, bridge of her nose, and cheeks.

But she didn't wipe it.

They didn't even notice.

She just kept her head down, staring intently at the wound.

Focus on suturing.

Focus on saving lives.

Save lives in your own way.

Li Dajiang looked at her.

Look at the angel.

Looking at this young woman dressed in a different combat uniform, so out of place amidst the smoke and fire of war.

I looked at it for two seconds.

Then, he looked away.

Turn around.

Look at that crack.

Looking out of the crack, the yellowish-brown tide was getting closer and closer.

He gripped the knife handle tightly.

The tiger-headed broadsword was slightly raised.

The tip of the knife pointed at the crack.

He spoke.

The sound wasn't loud.

"Brothers."

"Prepare for battle!!!"