Chapter 321: As Long As You Remember

Chapter 321 – As Long As You Remember

Victory has never come easily.

Yet for the Huaxia forces, the price of this triumph may still be too steep.

The base’s weapons and ammunition were nearly exhausted, and the frontline unmanned combat gear suffered catastrophic losses.

Scores of Iron Wolves and Xingtian‑type battle robots were utterly destroyed in the fighting, and even the relatively safe drones saw a sizable fraction crash due to reckless handling.

The loss rate of the entire unmanned combat swarm exceeded seventy percent, and even the remaining thirty percent became combat‑ineffective for lack of spare parts and ammunition.

Of course, compared with the loss of living troops, the personnel casualties were relatively light.

The main assault and infiltration companies of the Huaxia army suffered a staggering two hundred casualties, accounting for sixty percent of the forces deployed to the battlefield.

The expeditionary force and the volunteer company fared even worse.

Under He Shuo’s command, the expeditionary force was caught in a relentless loop of striking, dying, being summoned, striking again, and dying anew.

Aside from a handful of elite veterans, after two rounds of battle the expeditionary force had essentially undergone a complete bloodletting.

Conservative estimates put the dead at four hundred—a figure reached despite many casualties being impossible to tally.

In short, when He Shuo reassembled the surviving expeditionary troops, fewer than a hundred could even answer a roll call.

Likewise, the volunteer company’s losses reached a heartbreaking figure.

From three hundred down to one hundred and fifty.

Among those one hundred and fifty were nearly thirty grievously wounded, most of whom would not survive this April.

—

No, to be precise, they have at most a few days left to live.

If we were to conduct a full accounting of the casualties,

the final number would be:

‘810 persons.’

‘Of those, fifty were civilians, killed or wounded in the sporadic monster raids on the base during wartime defense.’

Shen Yue held the casualty report in his hand, and after hearing the briefing, Chen Jian let out a long sigh.

Logically, the figure isn’t actually large.

Compared with the Mechanical Cult’s battles that routinely cost hundreds, or a city razed by monsters that loses thousands or even tens of thousands, a total of eight hundred and fifty casualties seems almost negligible.

But Chen Jian knew exactly what those eight hundred and fifty meant for the Huaxia army.

It meant that, discounting the Han River City expeditionary force, out of the more than fourteen hundred souls gathered in Base 011 through successive expansions and waves of refugees, after removing the few unfit for combat and the women who must stay behind to tend production, daily life, and children, almost every able‑aged adult had stepped onto a battlefield, and nearly half of them never returned.

Is such a loss not already colossal?

In fact, had Base 011 not existed, had Fuxi not been there, the loss of half the prime‑age population would have been enough to utterly destroy a city.

Only because unmanned machines and automated factories compensated for the labor shortfall, and pre‑stocked grain secured the base’s food supply, could this outpost hold its ground in such an extreme environment without mass panic or rebellion.

With that in mind, Chen Jian sighed again.

‘It’s too hard.’

He said in a low voice:

‘If Lin Yu hadn’t found the terminal to control the beast tide at the last moment, our casualties could have been even greater.’

‘It’s possible that the few troops we had left would have been wiped out completely.’

‘But fortunately, we pulled through.’

‘Alas, that kind of anomalous operation would have been detected and restricted immediately.’

‘From now on, using that equipment to command the beast tide is virtually impossible.’

Hearing this, Shen Yue on the other side gave a short ‘hm’ and replied:

‘Indeed a pity—though it was expected.’

‘Moreover, we no longer need that gear.’

‘Now that the war is over, the monster threat to humanity has plummeted; even if future monster raids on human settlements occur, we’ll be far better equipped to respond.’

‘If we ever truly regain the authority and capture the Mountain City, everything will be ours.’

‘Exactly.’

Chen Jian’s eyes flickered briefly.

Mountain City.

The next objective is the Mountain City.

What lies there? What sort of city could it be?

Communication with Lin Yu has been cut off again, but from the brief window he managed to transmit, the place seems unlike what we had imagined.

The biggest ‘difference’ is that, contrary to our expectations, it is not a city ruled solely by AI.

It is inhabited by many ‘humans,’ and judging from current intel, humans inside the Mountain City enjoy relatively high authority.

They can not only command the beast tide directly, but have also built a control terminal that perfectly matches human habits.

That alone is enough to illustrate the issue.

Yet it is precisely this that leaves Chen Jian especially perplexed.

If the Mountain City is human‑led, what reason do they have to clash with other humans in this world?

What justification do they claim for using the ‘beast tide’ to cleanse targets they deem threatening?

Even more, what makes them consider those so‑called ‘threats’ to be genuine threats?

Chen Jian cannot fathom this logic at all.

In his understanding, in the current apocalypse, everyone should unite.

Whether you are a follower of the Mechanical Cult, a Holy Blood, or an ordinary person, you should set aside disputes as much as possible to confront the crisis.

Only under such conditions can the greatest synergy be forged, driving civilization’s swift restoration.

But clearly, those ‘Mountain City folk’ think otherwise.

They have sealed themselves within the Mountain City, cutting off all contact with the outside world.

Such a stance is foolish at any time—unless they have no intention of restoring civilization.

But why?

Surely they don’t believe that reviving civilization would bring even graver consequences?

Chen Jian furrowed his brows.

Only upon reaching the Mountain City can the answers to all these questions be truly uncovered, yet getting there is no simple task.

After the great battle, the base must be granted ample time to recuperate.

And because the losses were so devastating, that period of ‘rest and recovery’ is destined not to be brief.

At this thought, Chen Jian lamented once more:

"It truly is a Pyrrhic victory."

Shen Yue laid down the casualty report in his hands, a faint smile finally gracing his face.

"I wouldn't call it a Pyrrhic victory—rather, it should be described as a comprehensive victory achieved at a heavy cost."

"In our clash with the beast tide, excluding the minor monsters from the count, we eliminated at least nine hundred beasts of various ranks. On average, that means one monster was slain for every casualty we suffered."

"That is a remarkable, almost unbelievable kill-to-loss ratio."

"I have already publicized this report of our achievements across the entire army and the whole base. The feedback has been quite positive."

"This move was made in a most timely manner."

Chen Jian gave Shen Yue a firm thumbs-up.

"The most critical thing for us right now is to show everyone exactly what we have gained from this war."

"Though the comparison of casualty data may seem somewhat cold and clinical, it is indeed the most direct, high-impact method of expression."

"Once they see these numbers, everyone will realize that despite our heavy losses, the enemy has suffered an equally devastating blow."

"In this way, our sacrifices are rendered meaningful."

"However, merely doing this is still not enough."

"We need to show them something far more tangible."

"For instance, now that these monsters have been purged, how much land truly belongs to us? How much food and survival supplies can we secure? How much room for development will we gain?"

"You can draft a report on these matters."

"The report does not need to be overly rigorous, but it must be highly visual." "Understood."

Shen Yue nodded once more.

"In truth, from an objective standpoint, our gains are still immense."

"The enemy kill count stands at only nine hundred, which seems small, but compared to the total number of monsters, it is by no means insignificant."

"According to the intelligence we gathered previously, the number of rank-two and lower monsters in the northern and southern regions hovered around twenty-five hundred."

"In this single wave of the beast tide, we have already wiped out nearly half."

"As for the remaining monsters, they either cannot be organized into a tide again, or their nature is relatively docile, lacking aggression toward humans, or they simply do not occupy the same ecological niche as we do."

"Their threat to us is at its absolute lowest."

"Therefore, judging comprehensively, although the monsters have not been entirely eradicated, the threat they pose to humanity has tangibly dropped to within a safe margin."

"Very good."

Chen Jian lifted his head slightly, reaching up to rub his somewhat aching eyes.

"Which means we can basically determine that we have successfully weathered this beast tide crisis."

"The notice can be sent down—but do not lift the wartime status just yet."

"Understood."

Shen Yue stood up, promptly inquiring:

"What about those refugees from Jinling City? How do we handle them?"

"Should we take them in?"

"No."

Chen Jian replied decisively:

"Do not extend an active invitation to take them in."

"If they wish to come to our place, they will come on their own accord."

"If they do not wish to come, rest assured, they will still manage to survive."

"Alright, let our conversation end here."

"The ceremony is about to begin."

Two hours later.

At the main gates of Base 001.

Yu Qian sat in a rudimentary wheelchair, flanked by his son and his babbling daughter.

The commissioning and commendation ceremony had concluded, and several gleaming medals hung upon his chest.

According to the schedule, he should have returned to Base 011 by now to change his dressings, put on fresh clothes, and prepare for the upcoming celebratory banquet.

Yet, like so many others, he did not depart immediately.

His gaze was locked onto the massive steel structure towering beside the main entrance, staring intently at the names inscribed upon it, one after another.

In the beginning, he had not understood why the commanders of the Huaxia Army would remember the name of every single fallen soldier.

But he soon recalled that when his group had first arrived here and had just secured a "job," their names had already been recorded.

It was precisely because of this extra step that this monument, which could scarcely be called a proper sculpture, came to stand here.

Perhaps the commanders of the Huaxia Army had foreseen this day long ago?

Perhaps.

Yu Qian wheeled his chair forward, slowly drawing closer to the monument.

His son, holding the young daughter, kept pace beside him and asked with some confusion:

"Father, do you know all the people on this wall?"

Yu Qian slowly shook his head.

"No, not all of them."

"Father only knows a small portion of the people up there—a very, very small portion."

"Oh!"

His son nodded thoughtfully, then stepped closer to the monument, pointing at a name with curiosity as he asked:

"What about this one? Do you know this person?"

Yu Qian narrowed his eyes, examining it closely before speaking:

"I do."

"This person was your father's squad leader."

"The squad leader? Is he dead too?"

"Yes, he died very bravely."

Yu Qian stroked his son's head, continuing softly:

"Everyone on this wall is dead."

"That is such a pity—so many people have died!"

The son's gaze dimmed slightly for a moment.

He was so young that perhaps he could not truly grasp the meaning of what people called “sacrifice,” yet, in any case, he understood “death.”

Just as he understood his mother's death.

When someone “dies,” it means they will never return, never appear before anyone again.

That must be a sorrowful thing.

After all, he still remembered the night his mother died, when his father wept through the entire night.

——

But why, why does no one here weep?

The people whose names are inscribed must also be fathers, mothers, or sons to someone, right?

Confusion filled his eyes once more; he glanced at the words on the monument, then turned back to Yu Qian and asked:

“Father, have they gone to heaven?”

“I heard that those who fell in battle against the monsters go to heaven.”

“Is it because of that that their loved ones do not cry?”

“No.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at Yu Qian’s mouth, but he immediately adopted a solemn tone:

“You must remember what the commanders said.”

“There is no heaven in this world; if there were, we could only build it ourselves.”

“They do not weep because their relatives have gone to heaven.”

“They weep not, because they know the path their loved ones paved can still be walked by them.”

“Of course, there is another reason.”

“What reason?”

The son lifted his head, fixed his gaze on Yu Qian, waiting for an answer.

Yu Qian’s smile broadened.

“When the commander spoke up there earlier, didn’t you hear him as well?”

“Do you remember what the commander said at the end?”

The son bowed his head, thought for a moment, then replied:

“He said—”

“Death is never the final terminus; oblivion is.”

“He said we will remember the owners of these names, and that someday our own names will be carved upon this very monument.”

“Indeed.”

Yu Qian extended his hand to his son, his voice gentle yet resolute:

“So if one day your father's name is etched here as well, do not weep.”

“Just remembering is enough.”

(End of chapter)