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

Naoki Naojiro knew he had no way out.

He stood up and looked at the infantry of the 10th Brigade.

Compared to his subservient demeanor in front of Yamamuro Munetake, he could still act arrogantly and domineeringly in front of this group of Japanese infantrymen.

He was a brigade commander, a major general, and the sky above these people.

He could kneel before Yamamuro Munetake, but to these soldiers, he was the god.

"Gentlemen—!!!" His voice exploded amidst the smoke of battle. The Japanese soldiers who were lying prone, those who were still trembling, still crying, still chanting "Mama," all raised their heads and looked at Naojiro Tenma.

"Imperial warriors! Soldiers of the Tenth Brigade!" Naojiro Tenma's voice grew louder, louder, and more frantic.

"The division commander's order—capture Liu Xing!"

He raised his hand, which had no saber, and pointed to the position, to the still-burning position, to the huge tank, and to the men in gray-blue uniforms.

"The Chinese have powerful weapons, but we still have three thousand brave warriors! Three thousand against eight hundred! Even if we pile them up, we can still take down Liu Xing!"

Naoki Naojiro's voice was loud, but he knew it himself. Three thousand to eight hundred was a numerical advantage.

But those new weapons could kill hundreds of people with a single shot.

Those steel balls that fall from the sky can kill a person with just one, and sometimes they can even kill two people at once.

Those sniper rifles can kill someone in the head with a single shot from two kilometers away.

But they had no choice. He had no choice either.

Charge, and you might die. Don't charge, and you'll definitely be killed by the supervisory team.

Finally, a Japanese soldier roared out:

"Black Card Chaos—!!!"

Another Japanese soldier roared, "Heavens above the black card—!!!" Then another: "Heavens above the black card—!!!"

More and more Japanese soldiers started shouting.

At that moment, Naojiro Tenma, standing at the back of the group, raised his hand (without his sword) and roared, "Charge—!!!"

His face was contorted, his eyes were bloodshot, and his veins were bulging.

He's gone mad. Driven mad by Yamamuro Munetake, mad by the steel balls falling from the sky, mad by his own fear.

He had only one thought in mind—charge. Charge forward, capture Liu Xing, and it wouldn't matter if all three thousand warriors died.

On Liu Xing's position, Lei Gang held up his binoculars, watching the surging Japanese soldiers.

He put down his binoculars and spat.

"We need to conserve our ammunition until Bian Yun returns."

He paused, a hint of resentment in his voice, "It's really a bit annoying."

Lei Gang turned around and looked at the people in gray-blue military uniforms in the trenches.

They were also watching the wave; some gripped their guns tightly, some gritted their teeth, and some closed their eyes. But no one retreated.

Gu Yunshan walked over and stuck the blunted blade into the soil.

He walked over to Lei Gang, looked at the surging waves, and smiled.

"Brother Lei, we've beaten the Japanese to a pulp, aren't you satisfied yet?"

Lei Gang paused for a moment, then turned to look at him.

Gu Yunshan spoke with a smile. He looked at the Qilin tank, at the long, thick cannon barrel, and at the still-smoking shell casings.

There was a light in his eyes.

"To be honest, your weapons really amazed me." He paused, his voice lowering.

"I never dreamed we could fight the Japanese like this. One blast, two tanks blown up. One blast, steel balls falling from the sky, killing hundreds of Japanese soldiers. Now, such things have actually happened."

His voice grew softer and softer, as if he were talking about a dream. "To be honest, I feel that even if I died right now, it would be worth it."

Lei Gang turned around and grabbed Gu Yunshan's shoulder. Gu Yunshan winced in pain but did not flinch.

"Pah! Pah! Pah!" Lei Gang spat three times in a row, the sound like a cannon blast.

"Say such ominous things! If we come from the future, we will not allow you to sacrifice yourselves again! You live, your soldiers live, Liu Xing lives—not one can be missing!"

Gu Yunshan looked at him. He looked at this soldier from the future, at this man who carried a rocket launcher and blew up a tank with a single shot, at this man whose eyes were as red as burning iron.

His lips were trembling, and his eyes were red, but he didn't let the tears fall.

"Brother Lei," he said, his voice hoarse yet firm. Like sandpaper grinding iron.

"You know what? After becoming a soldier, I was prepared to die to protect this land. Not just me, every brother in the 021st Brigade felt the same way."

"We defended Liu Xing from five thousand men, fought down to two thousand, and now only eight hundred of us are still able to fight."

But we never considered retreating, not even a single step.

He released Lei Gang's hand, turned around, and faced the men in gray-blue military uniforms. Eight hundred men, eight hundred pairs of eyes.

Some were young, some were weathered, some were blind in one eye, some were swollen shut. But all eight hundred eyes shone brightly.

Like fire, like a lamp, like a star that will never go out.

"Brothers of Brigade 021!" he shouted, his voice hoarse, but every word was clear.

"Our brothers from later generations are helping us fight the Japanese! Their weapons can destroy two tanks with a single shot! Their sniper rifles can kill a Japanese soldier with a headshot from 2,800 meters away! Their tanks are bigger than the Japanese soldiers' tin cans! They have all this, but they still came! They came to our side and are here with us, guarding this place!"

He paused, then raised the large, blunt-bladed sword.

"Do you think we can let them down?"

"cannot--!!!"

Eight hundred voices exploded simultaneously. Not shouts, but roars. The kind of roar that screams of someone risking their life.

It tells the dead—you can close your eyes now. It tells the living—reinforcements have arrived.

It told the Japanese soldiers who were still watching from afar—the Chinese are not afraid to die. The Chinese will not retreat.

Gu Yunshan smiled.

He turned around, looking at Lei Gang, Lu Bei, Lin Mo, and Dong Yi. He looked at these people from the future, at these people dressed in strange clothes, carrying strange weapons, but who, like them, were not afraid of death.

"Go do what you want to do. Anything that involves killing Japanese devils is fine."

He spoke each word clearly,

"You don't need to worry about your backs, nor about the defenses. Because—"

He took a deep breath.

"The brothers of Brigade 021 are not all dead yet!"

His voice faded. In the trenches, the men in gray-blue uniforms simultaneously raised their weapons. Some raised guns, some knives, some bayonets, and some entrenching tools.

Eight hundred voices converged into a torrent. Those voices pierced through the smoke of battle, through the morning mist, and through eighty-eight years of time.

"The brothers of Brigade 021 are not all dead yet!!!"

"The brothers of Brigade 021 are not all dead yet!!!"

"The brothers of Brigade 021 are not all dead yet!!!"