Ironclad, died and resurrected, I've decided to go to the mic!

Meanwhile, on the front lines.

Jepard stood behind the makeshift defensive fortifications.

The defensive line in front of him had been fighting continuously for several hours.

The guards rotated in two shifts, and the wounded were carried off the plane faster and faster, with the replacement soldiers getting younger and younger.

Meanwhile, monsters continued to emerge from the rift, their twisted figures appearing and disappearing in the wind and snow.

"No one should be spared!"

Jepard's voice was still loud, and his shield slammed heavily onto the ground, sending snow flying everywhere.

"Below us is Belloberg!"

Your family, friends, and children are waiting in the city! Hold on to the death—hold on to the death is the only way!

The Iron Guards responded with short, forceful shouts and gripped their weapons tightly once more.

Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from behind.

A messenger galloped in on a panting snow steed.

I almost tripped over the snow when I dismounted.

He rushed to Jepard, clutching a command document in his hand, his voice broken and choked by the wind:

"Sir! The Great Guardian's order: all frontline troops, advance one hundred meters!"

The commotion on the battlefield seemed to be paused for a moment.

The medic who was bandaging the wound stopped applying the bandage.

The Iron Guards, who were loading weapons and ammunition, looked up, and even the Shield Guards at the front couldn't help but turn around for a glance.

Jepard stood there, his blood-stained blond hair tousled by the wind.

Those light blue eyes stared at the order in the messenger's hand for several full seconds.

He then reached out and took the order, opened it, read it from beginning to end, and then turned it over to look at the back.

It seems they're checking if there's any hidden appendix.

"...Advance one hundred meters. Now?"

He closed the order, looked up, and repeated it in a tone that seemed to doubt his own ears.

"Now? Advance one hundred meters towards the rift?"

"Yes, yes!"

The messenger was quite young, probably a recent graduate from military academy. He stood ramrod straight, but his lips were trembling.

"The orders from above are for immediate action!"

"What's the point of advancing a hundred meters? Are we going to plant a flag there? Or are we going to deliver a gift to the monsters?"

Jepard slammed the order onto the messenger's chest and pointed to the surging shadows of the rift ahead.

"Did you see that? The next hundred meters are full of Rift Monsters."

That position was within our defense zone last week, but they pushed it out three days ago.

"Now you want me to lead men to push back? How many men? Just these soldiers I have here who have just been rotated twice?"

The messenger's lips moved, but he couldn't utter a word.

"Who gave this order?" Jepard pressed.

"Yes, it's signed 'The Great Guardian'..."

"Lord Cocolia?"

Jepard interrupted him, his face showing suppressed anger.

"How could Lady Cocolia give such an order?"

Every time she visits the front lines, she expresses her appreciation to the soldiers stationed there, and every time she returns, she requests an increase in the defense budget in parliament.

Now she wants me to push the living soldiers into the rift?

How can you expect me to believe you?

His adjutant stepped forward and said in a low voice:

"Sir, the seal on the order is genuine."

But the timing of advancing 100 meters was indeed too coincidental.

Just then, a new batch of Rift monsters appeared, and we were exhausted after fighting them for most of the day.

If we proceed as ordered, the casualties will be devastating.

Jepard remained silent for a moment.

He looked at the messenger's young and fearful face, and then at the soldiers behind him who were waiting for him to make a decision.

The order was then folded and placed in the inner pocket of the breastplate.

"...Order received, but I know the situation on the front lines better than you do."

He turned around and raised his shield again.

After stabilizing the current defensive line.

I will send out a reconnaissance team to investigate the movements of the rift, and then proceed with further action after ascertaining the situation.

Until then, everyone, hold your ground! We won't leave until the monster retreats!

The Iron Guards responded again, this time with an even louder roar.

The messenger stood there, opening his mouth as if to say something, but then watched Jepard raise his shield again.

In the end, he shut his mouth.

Jepard didn't turn around to look at him, but simply gripped his shield tighter, his gaze piercing through the swirling snow.

It landed on the surging shadow of the rift ahead.

New monsters are forming there.

"Advance one hundred meters."

He repeated the order in a low voice, a bitter smile playing on his lips, before raising his weapon again.

He didn't have time to think about what was behind the order.

But he knew one thing—he wouldn't let those soldiers who believed in him and followed him.

He was sent to his death for an order he himself did not understand.

He will not back down an inch from this line of defense until he finds out the truth.

However, the rift will not give him a chance to catch his breath.

A low roar came from the depths of the crack in the distance.

Immediately afterwards, several rift monsters, far larger than any previous wave, stepped out of the rift.

There are so many of them that at least twenty can be seen with the naked eye.

A dense swarm of small monsters followed behind, rushing towards the defensive line.

Jepard witnessed this scene.

I wonder how many parents will lose their children and how many children will lose their parents after this battle.

But he knew he had to stand at the front, doing his best to hold off for even a second, and protecting as many as he could.

"Iron Guards, form ranks!"

"Shields in front, guns in back! Wounded, retreat; those who can still move, move up!"

"In the name of Landau"

Having endured ice and snow, this will has been forged, and will never end!

The Iron Guards' shouts of agreement rang out, and every soldier who could still stand straightened his back.

The shields closed one after another, forming a defensive line interwoven with silver and steel.

Just then, the vanguard of the Rift Monsters had already reached the edge of the crossfire net.

The Iron Guard's gunners opened fire wildly, the barrage of bullets and the light of cannons weaving into a dense net of fire in the wind and snow.

But there were too many monsters. When the monsters in the front row were defeated, the monsters in the back row immediately took their place, regardless of the losses.

Finally, several large monsters broke through the firepower blockade.

The foremost tentacle swung down its massive tentacle, slashing fiercely at the weakest point in the defense.

There stood a young recruit.

He looked no more than sixteen or seventeen years old; his uniform wasn't completely worn out, and the badge on his breastplate was so new it shone.

He held up his shield, his legs trembling but he didn't back down an inch, his eyes fixed on the huge tentacle falling towards him.

He closed his eyes.

The limbs did not fall.

Before I closed my eyes, all I heard were the roars of monsters and the shouts of my comrades.

All the sounds suddenly disappeared after I closed my eyes.

It was as if the earth had been put on pause.

Then a warm current flowed down his face, warming his face which was almost frozen.

He felt he was probably dead, because only the dead could feel the warm wind in the freezing cold.

But he wasn't sure if he would hear his comrades gasping for breath after he died.

The sounds rose and fell, as if all the Iron Guards on the entire front line had forgotten to breathe at the same time.

He opened his eyes.

The enormous tentacle hovered less than a meter above his head.

Frozen in mid-air by an invisible force, the carapace on the surface of the tentacle is cracking.

He turned his head blankly and looked up in the direction of everyone's gaze.

That was the most unreal scene he had ever witnessed in his life.

Five figures were suspended in mid-air.

The middle-aged man wearing glasses at the front seemed to be radiating light.

With his right hand outstretched, palm facing the battlefield below, a domineering smile played on his lips.

Behind him floated a cold-faced young man with a long gun and a pink-haired girl holding a camera.

A gray-haired girl and a man who was shouting something.