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

"Phoenix Flame-class thermobaric bomb, one round, fully loaded."

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

But everyone knew that what she was about to unleash was not rain, not wind—it was hell, the Phoenix Flame Hell.

"Now, prepare for launch."

Her finger rested on the launch button. That small, round, recessed red button.

She pressed her index finger against it, feeling the coldness of the metal, the tension of the spring, and the destruction sealed within, about to be released.

"3..."

Lei Gang gripped the binoculars tightly, his knuckles turning white. His hands were trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation, from that kind of excitement—the excitement of having waited so long and finally seeing this day.

"2..."

Lin Mo raised his eyes from the scope and looked at the sky. His face was expressionless, like a sword sheathed.

But there was a light in his eyes. That light was anticipation, excitement, a light that seemed to say—he was finally about to unleash his ultimate move.

"1..."

Gu Yunshan gripped his broadsword tightly and held his breath. He didn't know what a thermobaric bomb was, what a Phoenix Flame-level weapon was, or how badly it could blast the Japanese soldiers.

But he knew that people from future generations would set off fireworks for him. Fireworks bigger than the one before, brighter than the one before, and more satisfying than the one before.

Su Yue pressed the launch button.

The muzzle of the 125mm smoothbore cannon did not emit a "boom," but rather a sharp, high-pitched whistle, like the cry of a phoenix.

"howl--!!!"

That sound pierced through the smoke of battle, through the morning light, and through everyone's eardrums.

It wasn't the sound of cannonballs; it was something from the future, something that had been sealed away for a long time and had finally broken free of its cage.

That sound contained flames, death, and destruction.

A huge ball of flame shot out from the cannon muzzle. The flame was not orange-red, but white—the kind of white that is like the sun.

It stung so much that you couldn't open your eyes, it filled your eyes with bright spots, it made you think you were seeing heaven.

But that wasn't heaven; it was hell.

The shell flew out of the cannon barrel. Not in a straight line, but in a high arc.

It flew into the sky, flew higher, flew above the yellowish-brown waves.

Its trajectory is like a bridge, like a road leading to another world.

It flew very high, as high as a bird, as high as a shooting star, as high as a sun about to fall from the sky.

At the end of the arc, there was a wave of earthy yellow.

Finally, the shell reached its highest point, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

It hung there, like a silent judge, like a star that had suddenly come to a standstill.

Then—it bloomed, it blossomed in full glory.

The projectile split open from the middle, like flower petals blooming, silently. There was no sound, no flash, no shockwave.

Only one white, enormous, flower-like thing bloomed in the air.

It is a flower woven from flames and death.

Its petals are white, its stamens are white, and the whole flower is white.

It was blindingly white, as white as the sun, a whiteness unlike any color that should exist on earth.

But then, the sound caught up with the light. It was a low, heavy, muffled sound, like the earth groaning.

"Buzz—!!!"

That sound was the resonance of air being torn apart, the resonance of the earth trembling, the resonance of death singing.

It shook the earth so much that the soil in the trenches fell down in a rustling sound, and even those who covered their ears still felt a ringing in their ears. It also made the Japanese soldiers who were still charging stop in their tracks.

Flames erupted from the projectile, the white flames rapidly expanding in the air.

From fifty meters to one hundred meters, from one hundred meters to two hundred meters.

Flame-like petals cascaded down like a waterfall, like a giant, white, burning hand pressing down from the sky onto the earthen-yellow waves.

The moment the flames hit the ground, their color changed. From white to yellow, from yellow to orange, from orange to red.

From the color of the sun, it became the color of magma, the color of blood, the color of hell.

At the very center. Those Japanese soldiers closest to the epicenter didn't even feel the pain.

The moment the flames engulfed them, the temperature reached a staggering three thousand degrees.

Three thousand degrees—steel will melt.

The stones will shatter, and the Japanese will disappear.

Their bodies were instantly melted.

The skin melted like wax, revealing the muscles underneath.

The muscles melted like fat, revealing the bones underneath.

The bones melted like ice, turning into a grayish-white powder.

They didn't even have time to scream. Their mouths were still open, but before any sound could come out, their throats were burned away.

The Japanese soldiers' eyes were still open, but before they could see the light, their eyeballs were evaporated.

He died. He died cleanly and silently, as if he had never existed.

Those Japanese soldiers who were lucky enough to be outside the epicenter of the explosion, but slightly on the periphery, were also affected.

They were shouting "Tian Nao Hei Ka" with their mouths open.

The moment the flames rushed over, the faces of these Japanese soldiers seemed to be smoothed out by an invisible hand.

Eyes, nose, mouth—all the facial features disappeared in that instant.

But their bodies were still moving forward.

After running a couple of steps, my body began to melt, like a candle thrown into a fire, going from standing to bending, from bending to collapsing, and from collapsing to a pool of white ash.

The wind blew, and the ashes scattered.

These invaders will ultimately leave no name, only their corpses.

It will not leave any trace of its existence in this world.

The Japanese soldiers who were a little further away from the explosion's epicenter were not directly melted, but they also did not survive.

The moment the flames rushed towards them, their clothes caught fire, their skin caught fire, and their hair caught fire. They screamed in agony, like dying wild beasts.

Some Japanese soldiers rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames on their bodies, but they couldn't. It wasn't an ordinary fire; it was the fire of thermoplastic aluminum powder burning.

The temperature here is so high that water will evaporate instantly if you splash it on it.

They rolled once, twice, three times—the fire was still burning.

Their skin began to blister, the blisters bursting to reveal bright red flesh underneath. The flesh then began to turn black, char, and crack.

Finally, the Japanese soldier's body curled up into a ball, like a charred log, like a thousand-year-old dried corpse. Then, he stopped moving.

And those Japanese soldiers who were further away, they weren't engulfed by the flames, nor did they inhale the aluminum dust. But they wouldn't survive either.

The horror of thermobaric weapons lies not in the flames—but in the fact that the explosion of the flames consumes all the oxygen within a radius of two hundred meters.

The Japanese soldiers lay on the ground, mouths agape, desperately trying to inhale. But nothing came in. It was as if the air had been sucked out; their lungs expanded frantically, but they couldn't breathe anything in.

These Japanese soldiers all jutted out, all staring in the same direction: the sky.

That sky that once had sun, clouds, and morning light. Now, it's just a pale white expanse.

At this moment, the area within a radius of two hundred meters turned into hell.

It's the kind of hell where there's no sound, no air, a slow, desperate death—the Phoenix Flame Hell.