On the eve of the fall of Liaodong, he led his troops in a remonstrance against the young marshal.

Kenji Suzuki stood on the high ground, his binoculars deformed from gripping them so tightly.

His original plan was to open fire and then take advantage of the confusion among the defenders to storm the city walls, but he never expected this.

Instead of being intimidated by the artillery fire, the enemy began to slaughter the surviving civilians one by one in front of his entire regiment.

His artillery fire killed his own civilians, and then the enemy's swords killed the rest.

These 1,100-plus lives were essentially killed by him and the devil on the city wall together.

A raging fire rose in his heart, burning him to the core.

Hirata Yukihiro had already turned and walked down the hill.

He didn't look at the city wall again, because he knew that his wife, his elder brother, and their family of three could not possibly be alive.

As he walked past Kenji Suzuki, he muttered something under his breath:

You'll regret it.

Kenji Suzuki did not answer.

His gaze was fixed on a person on the city wall, a young man standing behind the crenellations, wearing a dark blue Zhongshan suit, watching everything expressionlessly.

Their gazes met in the smoke-filled air. Although they were hundreds of meters apart, Suzuki Kenji could clearly feel the chilling coldness in that gaze.

The young man stood behind the battlements the whole time.

He was watching as beheadings were being carried out, as corpses rolled down the city wall, and as the Japanese soldiers charged forward in a frenzy.

His expression remained unchanged from beginning to end, as if he were watching a performance that had nothing to do with him.

Kenji Suzuki suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

Using over a thousand lives as bait, they beheaded the enemy in front of them, enraging them into charging irrationally, and then hiding behind the city wall to pick off their targets one by one with a single shot.

What is this person's heart made of?

On the city wall, Zhang Xueming leaned against the inside of the crenellations, his mental points panel pounding wildly.

[Ding! One Japanese civilian has been killed. Points +3.]

[Ding! One Japanese grenadier killed. Points +3.]

[Ding! One Japanese company commander has been killed. Points +10.]

Points flooded the panel like a torrent, the numbers jumping from fifty to one hundred, from one hundred to five hundred, from five hundred to one thousand, and then continuing to climb.

The Japanese soldiers below the city wall, who had lost their minds and charged wildly, became easy targets for Zhang Xueming and the defending soldiers.

They stopped providing cover and taking cover, and just kept charging forward, putting their heads in front of the sights of every rifle on the city wall.

When the corpses piled up beneath the city wall to the point that even the siege ladders could no longer be set up steadily, the score in Zhang Xueming's mind had stopped at a shocking number.

[Points: 3580.]

Three thousand five hundred and eighty points.

One point can be exchanged for one elite soldier. This means that he can mobilize an elite force of 3,500 men at any time.

If you add in the points, which can be redeemed for weapons and supplies in the system shop, the power he wields is enough to change the course of this battle.

The balance of power has shifted.

But on these blood-soaked city walls, not everyone was paying attention to the battle.

Zhang Xueliang slumped in a corner inside the crenellations, his back against the cold bricks, his legs trembling violently.

He covered his mouth tightly with both hands, unable to speak, his eyes filled with fear.

He witnessed the entire process firsthand, from the prisoners being brought to the city wall, to the Japanese artillery bombardment killing more than a hundred people, and then to Zhang Xueming ordering his public execution.

More than a thousand lives were lost before his very eyes, one by one turning into headless corpses.

Fresh blood flowed in from outside the crenellations, soaking through his military trousers, sticky and still warm.

He fought in so many wars, from the First Zhili-Fengtian War to the Second Zhili-Fengtian War, from Guo Songling's rebellion against Fengtian to the Northern Expedition. He had seen dead people and witnessed the horrific scenes of blood and flesh flying everywhere on the battlefield.

But he had never seen anything like it before: people were tied up and made to kneel by the city wall, and then their heads were chopped off one by one in front of the enemy army.

This is not war, this is massacre. And the person who ordered it was his own brother.

He looked up at Zhang Xueming, who was standing behind the battlements.

The morning light shone from behind Zhang Xueming, gilding his silhouette with a golden edge, but his face was shrouded in shadow, making his expression impossible to discern.

Zhang Xueliang suddenly felt that this younger brother was completely unfamiliar, so unfamiliar that it gave him the creeps.

Is the timid Zhang Xueming of my memory the same person as the cold-blooded, ruthless devil who slaughtered thousands?

Zhang Xueming seemed to sense his gaze and slowly turned his head.

The two brothers' eyes met in mid-air.

Zhang Xueming looked at his older brother, who was slumped in a pool of blood, trembling, and a slow smile spread across his face.

"Big brother."

He lowered his voice, as if speaking only to Zhang Xueliang, and said, "Did you see that?"

"That's how you deal with the Japanese devils."

He pointed to the ever-growing pile of corpses below the city wall:

"Anger clouded their judgment, made them forget tactics, and turned them into sitting ducks."

"And all of this can be achieved in exchange for the lives of a thousand prisoners."

"We will sacrifice a thousand lives to win a battle, to ensure the safety of hundreds of thousands of people in Fengtian City, and to save the lives of tens of thousands of soldiers in the Northeast Army."

His smile vanished, his voice turning cold and ruthless:

"This is a worthwhile investment no matter how you look at it."

Zhang Xueliang's pupils suddenly contracted, and he couldn't utter a single word.

On the city wall, Yuan Lang beheaded the last prisoner, straightened up, and wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve.

His tactical knife was chipped and full of nicks.

He rubbed the knife on his trousers twice, walked up to Zhang Xueming, stood at attention, and saluted.

"Sir, all have been executed."

Zhang Xueming nodded, his gaze sweeping over the blood-stained city wall behind Yuan Lang.

One thousand one hundred and thirty-four heads were piled up into a small mountain at the foot of the city wall. Headless corpses lay haphazardly on the city wall, and blood flowed like a river.

The stench of blood in the air was so strong that you could almost touch it, and even seasoned veterans couldn't help but frown.

He turned around, facing the Japanese soldiers still charging wildly outside the city, and raised his Liao 13 rifle.

"Commander Liu."

"arrive!"

Liu Duoquan snapped to attention. He had witnessed the entire massacre; his face was pale, and his stomach was churning.

But having fought so many battles, he was better able to handle such situations than most people.

He forced himself not to look at the corpses and focused his attention on the battle.

"Order everyone to fire freely."

Zhang Xueming rested the gun barrel on the rampart, peered through the rear sight with his right eye, and said, "From this moment on, the battle has only just begun."