Dragon Raja: Lu Mingfei's War Journey

Chapter 103 The Final Assault and Akira Sakurai's Unexpected Change

The Prussian army was quickly mobilized, and the latest orders and operational plans were delivered to every participating unit.

The logistics warehouse was completely opened, and truckloads of ammunition boxes were transported out and pushed into the artillery positions.

They couldn't possibly miss this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and the soldiers were already tired of this endless cycle of suicide.

Day after day, they climbed that mountain, crawled into those shell craters destined to be covered by artillery fire, watched the people around them turn into mutilated pieces of flesh, and then escaped back by luck or in a sorry state—they longed for a decisive battle.

This time, the Prussian command showed unprecedented determination; they no longer hesitated to use their stockpiles and brought out all their artillery shell reserves.

It's time to bring this all to a close.

As the sky brightened again, a barrage of shells began to rise from the Prussian artillery positions on the left bank of the Meuse River, raining down on the Hill of the Dead. This barrage was no less intense than the one that began on the 21st day of the Battle of Verdun, covering almost every inch of the hill from its base to its ridge and then to its reverse slope.

Dead Man Mountain resembles a volcano that has been completely ignited, burning from the inside out.

Sakurai Akira leaned against the trench, feeling like his throat was about to burst into flames. This was his fifth day on Dead Man's Mountain, and in those five days he hadn't even seen the Prussian army, only endless shelling.

But this relentless shelling caused his company to lose a third of its men. More fatally, the shelling severely hampered resupply.

Verdun is located in northeastern France. Due to its unique terrain, the transportation routes to the rear of this fortified city are not wide. There is only one relatively narrow road to transport troops, ammunition, food, and medicine from Paris or other rear bases to the front lines in Verdun.

This road, the lifeline that sustained the entire Verdun defense system, was named the St. Way by the French with a mixture of sorrow and hope.

It not only had to undertake the task of continuously sending troops from all over the country to the front lines, but also had to transport massive amounts of combat supplies to the front lines.

This was an almost impossible task, but the French military and civilians were almost the entire nation working together. They requisitioned all available vehicles and mobilized countless civilians to repair roads under fire and drive trucks. This narrow Sainte-Road actually created a logistical miracle, miraculously managing to transport troops and supplies at the same time.

However, the end of the St. John's Road is a relatively safe distribution center in Verdun and the rear. To finally deliver supplies to front-line positions like Dead Man's Mountain, soldiers still need to risk their lives to deliver them up there or soldiers from above need to come down to retrieve them.

But the Prussian artillery fire was almost constant and specifically targeted the supply routes. Going down the mountain to get supplies or waiting for convoys to come up meant being exposed to deadly artillery fire.

Many soldiers responsible for transporting supplies were blown to pieces along with their supplies before they even saw the front-line trenches, falling on the last stretch of road leading to the position, making resupply extremely difficult.

"Hey—Marichar, don't drink that water—you'll get dysentery—" Sakurai Akira said in a hoarse voice as he looked at Marechal beside him.

Before the war, that man named Marechal was a shepherd boy from the countryside.

He was younger than Sakurai Akira, with a youthful face. At that moment, he was lying next to a puddle that had accumulated from the rain two days prior, drinking the water from it.

However, the water had turned green and emitted a foul stench, and there were some rotting corpses in it.

Marechal took a few sips but couldn't bear it any longer, and finally vomited up the green liquid. He clutched his stomach and said to Sakurai Akira with a sob in his voice.

"Thirry—we—are we going to die here? I—I miss my sheep—it's time to shear them in the spring—"

"No, we'll be relieved in two days, then you can go back to see your lambs. And the company commander has already gone to get us food and water. Don't worry, we'll definitely survive," Sakurai Akira comforted him from the side.

But he couldn't even convince himself of this. The company commander had taken a few trusted soldiers down the mountain to gather supplies yesterday afternoon, and now, more than 24 hours later, there was still no news of him.

Although no one mentioned it, everyone knew in their hearts that the chances of surviving on that supply route, which was closely watched by Prussian artillery observation posts, were not much higher than standing on the top of Dead Man's Mountain and watching a complete sunrise.

Marechal gagged a few more times, vomiting only stomach acid and bile. He slumped down in the mud, staring blankly at the sky, which was stained leaden gray by gunpowder smoke, muttering the names of the sheep from his hometown and the trivialities of shearing sheep.

Akira Sakurai also felt dizzy and weak, which was his body sending out serious warning signals. In the past five days, they had only been given a few pieces of black bread that were as hard as rocks, and water was a luxury.

The water that Marechal had just drunk from was the cleanest liquid they could find. He had secretly taken a sip himself, and the taste and the subsequent nausea in his stomach were something he would never forget. Moreover, some soldiers had already gotten dysentery from drinking that water and had passed out from diarrhea.

If things continue like this, Akira Sakurai doesn't know if he can hold on any longer, and by the time the Prussian soldiers reach this point, he estimates he won't even have the strength to fight back.

Just then, a figure was leaning against the trench wall, moving slowly and laboriously toward them, his face covered in mud and gunpowder so thick that his original features were almost unrecognizable.

But everyone recognized him; it was their company commander, Bernard, who had disappeared for a day and a night.

Bernard looked extremely disheveled, covered in mud from head to toe, with a vacant look in his eyes. However, he was carrying two packages and several water jugs.

"Company Commander!" Sakurai Akira struggled to stand up, and Maresch next to him also suddenly raised his head, a faint glimmer of hope rekindling in his eyes.

Captain Bernard staggered to a relatively flat spot in the center of the trench, threw the two mud-covered packages on the ground, and gently placed several canteens down. However, two of the canteens had been punctured, proving how hard-won these items were.

Everyone crowded around, their eyes fixed on the thing on the ground, their throats bobbing involuntarily. It was the food and water they had been waiting for, but no one dared to move it without the company commander's order.

"Food and water—eat sparingly, drink sparingly, we need these to last for two days—" Captain Bernard said hoarsely, then he unscrewed the canteen and took a sip himself before handing the canteen to the soldier next to him.

The soldier next to him carefully took the water bottle, took a small sip, and immediately handed it to the next person. The water had a rusty and dusty taste, which almost brought tears to Sakurai Akira's eyes.

No one asked what happened to the soldiers who went out with the company commander; everyone knew what had become of them.

Bernard quickly opened the two packages again, which contained not only black bread but also some cheese.

Akira Sakurai and the other soldiers' eyes lit up when they saw the cheese and bread.

Although the black bread was still as hard as a rock, it was at least intact, not riddled with holes by insects, nor soaked into mud by rainwater. And those few pieces of dark yellow cheese with hardened edges were, at this moment, an unparalleled delicacy, exuding an intoxicating aroma of fat and protein.

Captain Bernard's hands were still trembling slightly, but he distributed the food fairly, giving each person a small piece of bread and a piece of cheese the size of a fingertip.

Everyone received their share with almost reverent hands. The young shepherd couldn't wait to stuff the small piece of cheese into his mouth, his cheeks puffed out and his eyes squinted happily, as if he were tasting the most delicious dessert in the world.

Akira Sakurai savored the small piece of cheese. He felt a renewed hope for survival. Two more days. He just needed to stay in this godforsaken place for two more days.

Just as the soldiers were enjoying their cheese and bread with hope, the sound of artillery shells streaking across the sky came from above, and there were an unusually large number of them, more than they had seen in the previous five days combined.

Akira Sakurai felt the cheese in his mouth instantly lose all flavor. He abruptly raised his head, and like everyone else in the trench, looked up at the sky with an expression of horror and disbelief.

Countless projectiles rose from the unseen artillery positions behind the horizon, tracing breathtakingly dense arcs in the air before raining down like a torrential downpour, carrying destructive power, towards Dead Man Mountain and their location.

"My God—" someone murmured, the sound drowned out by the deafening prelude.

The next moment, hell descended.

boom!!!!!!!!!!!!

The moment the first wave of shells landed, hundreds and thousands of explosions erupted simultaneously, the flames stretching from the sky to the ground, instantly engulfing the front slope of Dead Man's Mountain. Thick black smoke, yellowish-brown dust, and scarlet flames shot into the sky.

The violent shockwave, like a real tsunami, swept across the hillside, causing trenches to shake, deform, and collapse. The soil and timber overhead were blown away like paper, and large chunks of soil, rubble, broken weapons, twisted metal fragments, and human remains were thrown into the air by the blast wave.

"Take cover!!!" Captain Bernard's roar was as faint as a mosquito's buzz amidst the devastating explosion, but he still managed to issue the order with all his might.

However, under this level of artillery fire, concealment has lost most of its significance.

Akira Sakurai felt an unprecedented despair. Faced with such catastrophic firepower, his personal courage and skills, and even his dangerous syringe, seemed so insignificant.

When the shelling, which had lasted for an unknown period of time, finally ended, Akira Sakurai discovered that he had actually survived. During the shelling, the usually timid Marechal had unexpectedly shielded him with his body.

However, the little shepherd had disappeared by then, leaving only his two hands still gripping Sakurai Akira's body. Moreover, a large hole had appeared in Sakurai Akira's chest, and his exposed heart could be seen beating stubbornly.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" Sakurai Akira lay on the ground, crying and howling, not only because of the pain, but also because everything around him had disappeared. Company Commander Bernard, his comrades who had been with him day and night, and the hope they had just gained had all vanished.

I could have left in just two more days—why is this happening?

Immediately afterward, the sound of a charge whistle came from down the mountain. Sakurai Akira slowly raised his head and looked out through the still-smoldering smoke and flying dust from the edge of the collapsed trench.

On the slope of Dead Man's Mountain, which had been repeatedly battered by artillery fire and resembled the jagged surface of the moon, countless gray figures, like a flood bursting its banks, launched a final assault on the mountaintop, on their last remaining position.

Looking at the gray figures surging forward, Sakurai Akira's eyes were filled with unprecedented resentment.

Why?! Why was he thrown into this meat grinder of steel and flesh when all he wanted was to escape that corrupt family, to break free from his fate as a ghost, and to live like an ordinary person?!

Why did all those who were good to him die so tragically? Why did this world strip him of everything, just because he was destined to be a ghost from birth? Is this the fate of a ghost?

Those eyes, which may have still held traces of confusion and struggle, were now being devoured by a pure golden flame. The violence and madness that had been suppressed for too long, belonging to the ghost, were now being released completely.

"Family—Destiny—War—To hell with them all!!!"

A roar, a mixture of Japanese and French, squeezed out from between his teeth. He suddenly reached into the almost blood-soaked pocket at his waist and grasped the syringe, which had survived thanks to Marechal's protection. It all seemed to be the work of fate.

With his last ounce of strength, he plunged it into his own neck.

Instantly, Sakurai Akira convulsed violently as if struck by a high-voltage electric shock, his body arching uncontrollably, and the muscles and blood vessels at the wound on his chest began to writhe and heal at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Tiny scales began to emerge beneath his skin, his fingernails grew longer and sharper at an astonishing speed, like the claws of a wild beast, and his canine teeth extended uncontrollably.

The flames in the golden eyes burned to their zenith, and the pupils completely transformed into vertical pupils resembling those of a reptile, reflecting the smoke, firelight, and the endless gray tide surging up from the foot of the mountain.

Today, this evil spirit from the Snake Clan will tear everything in the world to shreds.

Akira Sakurai's lips curled into a bloody and insane arc.

The next moment, he was launched into the air, his figure leaving a blurry afterimage in the billowing smoke, his speed completely exceeding human limits.