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

At the headquarters of the Japanese 11th Division, Yamamuro Munetake stood in front of the sand table, his hands behind his back, his triangular eyes fixed on Liu Xing's position.

The little flag was still stuck there, crooked and sprawling, like a thorn stuck in his heart.

His fingers tapped on the edge of the sand table, again and again. He was waiting, waiting for news from the Tenth Brigade.

Just then, an adjutant ran in through the door, his face flushed with excitement.

"Commander, the 10th Brigade has begun its charge! They are truly the Empire's fearless warriors!"

His voice was so loud that everyone in the command post could hear it. The staff officers looked up, their faces showing relief.

Yamamuro Munetake nodded. That good-for-nothing, in the end, didn't completely disappoint him.

But the chief of staff of the 11th Division stood beside him, his brow furrowed. His name was Saburo Kawabe, a colonel, a graduate of the Army War College, and a veteran of most of his life. He had a scar on his face, a remnant of the Russo-Japanese War.

He had seen too many failures, and too many "imperial warriors" turned into "imperial ashes".

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke.

"Commander, the warriors of the 10th Brigade are fearless. However—the Chinese's new weapons are simply too powerful and devastating. I'm worried about these warriors..."

He didn't finish his sentence. Because he saw Yamamuro Munetake's eyes.

Those triangular eyes narrowed into slits, like the forked tongue of a venomous snake.

Yamamuro Munetake raised his hand, interrupting him.

"You said it yourself, it's incredibly powerful."

"How many weapons with such immense power could the Chinese possibly have?"

He stood frozen by the river. His mouth was open, as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

Yes, how many weapons with such immense power could the Chinese possibly have?

Those cannonballs that can blast through two tanks in one shot, those rain of steel balls falling from the sky, those ruthless sorcery techniques that kill without blinking an eye.

How many Chinese are there?

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Yamamuro Munetake turned his back and looked at the huge map on the wall. The red and blue markings were densely packed, like an overly woven net.

He tapped his finger on the map.

"I'm certain they don't have many of these weapons. Otherwise, why would they be constantly on the defensive?"

He paused, turned around, and looked at the riverbank.

"What we need to do now is to deplete it."

The pupils by the river suddenly contracted.

He understood. It wasn't about consuming weapons—it was about consuming people. Consuming Naokijiro, consuming the 10th Brigade, consuming those three thousand-plus Imperial warriors who were charging forward.

They used their lives to exchange for Chinese artillery shells. They used their blood to exchange for Chinese bullets. They used their corpses to pave a road to Liuxing.

Cold sweat trickled down his forehead, down his nose, and into his eyes, but he dared not wipe it away. He simply lowered his head and shouted:

"The division commander is wise."

China, Shanghai, Liu Xing's position.

That yellowish-brown wave was surging in, more than three thousand Japanese soldiers, a dark, imposing mass.

Lei Gang lay prone in the trench, his brow furrowed in a frown:

"Su Yue." He pressed the call button, his voice booming like a cannon, as if it could shake the very sky.

"I reckon these Japanese devils were sent by the 11th Division to deplete the ammunition we brought from the new China. They're willing to risk their lives."

His voice was filled with anger, resentment, and a sense of frustration at having to play along while watching the enemy die.

Su Yue's voice came through the communication device, still calm.

"I know. But since they want to die—"

She paused.

"Then let them have their way. When it's time to act, then act."

Su Yue poked half her body out of the Qilin tank's turret. Her short hair fluttered in the smoke, like a small flag, like a black fire.

Her eyes were bright as she looked at Gu Yunshan and the people in gray-blue military uniforms.

"If any members of the Japanese 10th Brigade escape—" Her voice rang out through the loudspeaker.

"You are responsible for annihilating them."

These words, spoken lightly, conveyed a meaning to everyone: I will lead the attack on these Japanese devils.

If there is any left over, you may have it.

I'll take on the toughest ones; you guys take on the ones that slipped through the net.

I'll kill the ones that are the most numerous; you guys kill the ones that run the fastest.

I will be the sword, and you will be its sheath.

Gu Yunshan stood there, gripping the large, dulled sword. He heard those words, and he chewed over each one, then over again.

"Eliminate the fish that slipped through the net." He muttered, a slow grin spreading across his face. "That line is fucking cool."

Zhao Desheng lay there, his mouth wide open, revealing his teeth, which were yellowed from smoking.

"Goodness, even girls from later generations speak with such domineering manners."

He patted the rifle beside him; the stock of that rifle was engraved with seven barbs.

"I've fought for eight years and I've never seen such a domineering girl."

Lei Gang smiled too. He turned around, looking at Su Yue, at the woman who was peeking half her body out of the turret.

"Su Yue, what are you planning to do?" His voice was filled with anticipation, excitement, and a sense of anticipation for a good show.

Su Yue's finger rested on the launch button, but she didn't press it. She was waiting, waiting for that yellowish-brown wave to get closer, denser, and more intense.

Her eyes were pressed against the scope, and through the crosshairs, the tan figures grew closer, denser, and more crowded.

The corners of her mouth curled up slightly.

"Let's give those little devils a surprise."

She spoke.

"Although we don't have a lot of this stuff in stock, we can't keep hoarding it like a treasure forever."

Lu Bei's eyes lit up. He stood in the trench, looking at Su Yue, and at the long, thick cannon barrel.

A word flashed through his mind. He had heard that word on the training field and seen it in exercises.

That word is hell. That word is—the Phoenix Flame-class thermobaric bomb.

Like the Dragon Breath Thermobaric Bomb, it is even stronger than the Dragon Breath Thermobaric Bomb.

It is known as a weapon that integrates live cremation and terrain reshaping.

The battlefield fell silent instantly.

Those Chinese soldiers in 1937 didn't know what it was.

But they saw Lei Gang's expression.

That expression was the expression of someone who had seen the King of Hell, the Grim Reaper, or something that could obliterate the bones of the Japanese soldiers.

Lei Gang's mouth was agape as those images flashed through his mind.

Those scenes I've seen on the training field, those scenes I've seen in videos, those scenes that have appeared in my dreams.

Flames, high temperatures, shockwaves, and—nothing at all.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and then he jumped up.

"The Phoenix Flame-class thermobaric bomb, I fucking love this."

Su Yue nodded, her voice filled with murderous intent:

"Stay tuned."