Chapter 300: The Mission Continues

Chapter 300: The Mission Continues

When the cannons from Jiǔjiāng City roared, the battle at the Bānghú defensive line entered an entirely new phase.

The expeditionary forces were no longer fighting alone; they had received aid that, under any other circumstance, would have seemed utterly impossible—from the “enemy” itself.

After a round of bombardment, a multitude of the Guardians of the Faith began to pour onto the field from the rear.

Their fighting spirit and combat power, of course, could not compare to the Huáxià army; one could even say they were inferior to the hastily assembled expeditionary corps itself.

Yet, they truly arrived.

Armed with an assortment of “outdated” weapons, they tentatively merged into the expeditionary line and opened fire on the distant monsters with their own arms.

At first, their contribution was modest at best.

But soon, Hé Shuò delivered the weapons he had long prepared for them.

Besides the Type‑75 rifle, there were vast stocks of “inferior” or “obsolete” rocket launchers that had been purchased in advance.

They would not turn their noses up at arms that the Huáxià forces dismissed.

For those weapons were far superior to what they possessed.

The firepower density along the Bānghú line leapt a notch, and at the same time the heavy cannons—along with two “giant guns” originally belonging to the Holy Hall Guard Brigade but stranded in Jiǔjiāng after the Sacred Army’s reorganization—were thrust onto the battlefield.

Those guns bolstered the expeditionary corps’ scarce heavy fire, and once the monsters drew close, the skill of the gun crews ceased to be the decisive factor in artillery effectiveness.

Load, aim, fire.

It was that simple.

After two volleys, two of the beasts lurking in the lake were struck, exploding into a spray of flesh and blood upon the water’s surface.

The remaining monsters were pinned down by a hail of bullets, then cleanly harvested by the unmanned combat clusters the expeditionaries fielded.

Yet that was not the end.

Wave after wave of assault surged like tide and never ceased, until half an hour later, when bombers from Base 011 took off and arrived, the north‑bound beast tide finally halted its frenzied advance.

The stalemate Hé Shuò had coveted at last materialized.

And at that moment, he could finally draw a breath of relief.

“.So you had already foreseen Jiǔjiāng City would join the fight? Is that why you placed the line at Bānghú?”

Li Xiàn looked at Hé Shuò with a hint of disbelief, while Hé Shuò merely shook his head and replied:

“That’s only one reason.”

“The Bānghú line enjoys a natural advantage—you have seen it yourself. Relying on a rich, intricate network of waterways as a barrier already lightens our defensive burden enormously.”

“In fact, even if the Guardians of the Faith from Jiǔjiāng never arrived, we could hold out for half an hour.”

“The only catch would be sacrificing the first column of the expeditionary force, using them as filler infantry.”

“Fortunately, I need not go that far.”

“The commander of Jiǔjiāng proved more reasonable than I had expected.”

“.Understood.”

Li Xiàn exhaled a long sigh.

“Then, what do we do next?”

“The beast tide has been stopped; our mission is complete, isn’t it?”

“No.”

Hé Shuò shook his head again.

“No? The beast tide has taken a heavy loss on our line—why would they abandon the northward push and turn northeast to strike Jīnlíng directly?”

As the words fell, Hé Shuò stared at Li Xiàn in astonishment.

“Are you mad?”

“Have you forgotten the purpose of our deployment here?”

“We never intended to annihilate them here.”

“Our goal is to slice the beast tide, to prevent convergences from multiple directions and create staggered windows for each strike.”

“If the tide truly turned northeast, wouldn’t that be exactly what we want?”

“If the commander behind the tide possesses even a modicum of intelligence, he would not act that way.”

“He would continue to press northward.”

“Our battle has only just begun.”

“.Only just begun?”

Li Xiàn’s gaze shifted toward the distant line.

There, the expeditionary troops and the Guardians of the Faith were already working in close concert. In the previous clashes, not a single soul had fallen to the monsters.

The sole casualty had been a self‑inflicted wound, the result of one’s own folly with his own weapon.

The situation seemed optimistically perfect.

Yet Li Xiàn knew the fragility of this line far exceeded what the front‑line soldiers imagined.

For this line, the odds of victory were not a spectrum from zero to one hundred.

They were either zero… or one hundred.

Either they would hold with losses so scant they seemed miraculous,

Or, the instant the line was breached, every one of them would perish.

The slender line resembled a thin rope stretched across a cliff.

Even a gust of strong wind could snap it.

And the hundreds clinging to that rope could rely on nothing but themselves and, far away—tens of kilometres distant—the single “heavy hammer” that loomed.

Meanwhile, at the Beishān rear line.

Dozens of monster carcasses lay scattered across the broad plain, and the interleaved Fifth Squad’s mission had been completed successfully.

Yet at this moment, none of the standing men wore any expression of elation or triumph.

The reason was simple.

Two brothers had fallen in the recent battle.

Even though they had enjoyed a full advantage in equipment, wielded overwhelming firepower, and had pushed every piece of gathered intelligence to its limit, there remained one immutable fact.

“That is, for humanity, the monsters remain a black‑box.”

No one can, through simple observation alone, fully and accurately discern a monster’s nature, nor can anyone predict its mode of attack before it strikes.

As long as that remains unattainable, no matter how cautious a squad may be, they can never guarantee absolute safety.

The mishap struck the last two beasts.

When Fifth Squad, using shield‑arm close‑defense systems, rocket launchers, and recoilless guns, cleared away the remaining monsters, those two suddenly launched an unexpected assault from hundreds of metres away.

Thousands of bone spines rained down from the sky in a dense barrage, like a hail of arrows, shrouding the area where the squad stood.

Relying on the surveillance of drones, they had learned in advance of the approaching arrowstorm.

Yet the mere seconds of warning were not enough for every one of them to scramble for proper cover.

Forced by circumstance, they took the nearest shelter, narrowly evading the monster's first volley.

But immediately after, a succession of ranged assaults drove them into a hopeless trap.

A massive boulder, hurled through the air, crashed down with brutal force, hemming in the already targeted group with no escape.

The squad leader, daring a counter‑strike, rushed forward and, at great peril, jammed two rockets into the creature's maw; the price he paid was a poison‑tipped spine that grazed his flesh.

His external wounds were minor.

Yet the neurotoxin swiftly robbed him of his ability to breathe of his own volition.

His muscles seized, his heart stilled.

In his final moments, he could not even utter a single word.

His last act was to wrench his eyes to look toward Yu Qian, who had arrived to try to save him.

Moments later, a few seconds after, he suddenly closed his eyes.

Death arrived in an instant.

It came with a weight that felt both crushing and weightless.

Yu Qian still felt the lingering warmth of the leader's neck on his palm, yet he had no time to mourn the fallen comrade.

He lifted the sniper grenade that had fallen to the ground.

Then he rose, his voice heavy, and spoke:

"The squad leader has fallen in battle."

"From this moment, I assume command."

"Listen to my orders now."

"Everyone, move out and bring our fallen brother's body back to the assault vehicle."

"The mission continues!"

(End of chapter)