Chapter Thirteen: The Final Moment Has Arrived!

"Die, you Chinaman!" shouted the two Japanese soldiers as they raised their bayonets, ready to stab downwards.

But at that very moment, they suddenly saw the young soldier reach into his tunic and pull out a grenade. Right before their horrified eyes, he resolutely pulled the pin.

"No! No... Run!" The five Japanese soldiers cried out in terror, faces contorting in fear, trying to flee. But it was already too late...

The grenade hissed as it sparked, and just as the five tried to turn away, not even managing to take a step, a blinding explosion erupted, instantly engulfing the young soldier and all five Japanese invaders.

Boom!

A thunderous explosion tore through the air. The five Japanese soldiers had no chance to react. They managed only a single scream before all sound was cut off—silenced forever.

After the blast, only a field of shattered limbs and blood remained.

At the same time, elsewhere on the battlefield, a series of violent explosions echoed, resounding across the entire defense line.

The detonations marked the moment the severely wounded had chosen to perish alongside the enemy. From that moment on, they would sleep eternally upon this land.

When the explosions rang out, Chen Qingzhi was still locked in fierce combat with the Japanese. Suddenly, the sounds reached him, and his mind wavered for an instant.

In that flash, it was as if he could see an indescribable spirit radiating outward. This was the spirit of the Republic; this was the integrity of the nation!

It felt as though the sleeping lion was slowly awakening from its slumber.

"May you find peace on your journey," Chen Qingzhi whispered, offering a quiet farewell, paying tribute to those nameless heroes.

He knew, without doubt, that these blasts were the final acts of the gravely wounded. He couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion and deep respect.

A nation without heroes is a pitiful nation.

But a nation with too many heroes is a tragic one.

When a country is beset by calamity, if it has no heroes, its backbone is broken. A people without courage or integrity has no future—no hope.

But if too many heroes must rise, then such a country is truly to be mourned.

Across this vast land, under invasion by the Japanese, in these chaotic times, among four hundred million compatriots, too many nameless heroes have emerged. They have marched bravely into death, sacrificing themselves for the sake of their country.

Maybe no one will ever know their names, and perhaps few will remember what they have done, but what cannot be denied is this: their deeds will be recorded by the nation, and their heroic names will be sung forever.

The martyrs have fallen, and the nation mourns.

In an era like this, to have so many who calmly lay down their lives for their country and their fellow citizens—does this speak of the nation's sorrow, or its fortune?

...

"Kill!"

Every soldier fought with everything he had, risking his life in a desperate counterattack against the Japanese. Even as wounds covered their bodies, they would bite back at the enemy with their final breath.

Such madness, such disregard for life and death, filled the Japanese with terror. Fear had already taken root in their hearts.

If not for the officers refusing to order a retreat, they would have fled long ago.

To fight against these Chinese was to have one's will ground down, one's limits constantly tested.

The unyielding resolve of these men filled the Japanese with dread. Since arriving in the Republic, the invaders had never faced such determined resistance. Usually, a few shots would send the Chinese troops scattering in disarray.

Even when they met some opposition, the so-called brave warriors of the Empire could easily rout them. This bred a sense of arrogance and superiority among the Japanese when facing the Republic's soldiers.

But the resistance they encountered today was like nothing they had ever experienced—far beyond anything they could endure.

The warriors of the Empire could pierce bodies with bayonets, but their foes would not hesitate to pull a grenade and die together with them.

The warriors of the Empire could defeat them with ease, but these men would, in their frenzy, bite at the very throats of their enemies.

With whatever they could lay hands on, they inflicted wounds upon the invaders—wounds that would never be forgotten.

These Chinese soldiers were terrifying.

If all Chinese soldiers were like these, then was the Empire's invasion truly right or wrong?

Such thoughts haunted every Japanese soldier, and when they considered the question, their answer was clear: absolutely impossible.

If all the Chinese troops fought as these men did, the wounds and losses would be unbearable for the Empire.

The longer the Japanese fought, the more fearful they became. Now, the vaunted Bushido spirit and the glory of Amaterasu had quietly vanished. The only thing keeping them fighting was their greater numbers.

If the regimental commander ordered a retreat, they would not hesitate for a moment—they would flee at once, without looking back.

To fight against such foes was to suffer a torment of body and soul.

After more than half an hour of brutal combat, Chen Qingzhi finally killed the Japanese soldier before him, and at last caught a rare moment to catch his breath. Glancing around, he saw that only a handful of defenders remained. Their numbers had dwindled to a mere fraction of what they had been before the bayonet charge began.

"It seems today is the day I meet my end," Chen Qingzhi sighed, unable to help the thought.

Who would have thought that on his very first day in the Republic, he would face death here?

He still harbored great ambitions yet unfulfilled, countless dreams not yet realized. He was not willing to die here, not like this.

Yet, no matter how unwilling, if given the choice, Chen Qingzhi would still, without hesitation, remain here and stand with his fellow soldiers to the end.

It was not obstinance, but his very nature: knowing the mountain is home to tigers, yet still heading for the peaks.

Knowing that staying meant certain death, Chen Qingzhi would still fight on for his belief.

Because he knew that behind him stood his compatriots. Having become a soldier, he bore the duty to defend the land and protect the nation.

This was the mission of the soldier.

From the first day he joined the army, this had been his guiding principle.

Now, as a Japanese soldier with a savage face charged at him, bayonet raised, Chen Qingzhi drew a deep breath and shouted, "Brothers, the final moment has come!"

"Defend the land, resist the invaders, protect our homeland—now is the time to meet death with dignity! Brothers, kill! Kill the invaders!"