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 teeth grinding so hard that his gums almost broke.

His gaze swept across the open area littered with corpses, fixed intently on the dark blue figure on the city wall.

"Go! Give me the duck! Give me the duck!!"

"Kill all the Chinese!"

He roared angrily.

However, the 4th Regiment's first charge had been decimated. One battalion commander was killed and the other wounded, and more than half of the soldiers were killed or wounded. The survivors lay on the ridges of the fields, not daring to lift their heads.

The situation was even worse for the 29th Regiment. The soldiers who witnessed their loved ones being beheaded had completely lost their minds.

Some people squatted on the ground, clutching their guns and wailing, while others charged towards the city wall recklessly, only to be riddled with bullets.

Some even detonated grenades, intending to perish together with the demons on the city wall, but the grenades exploded at the base of the wall, shattering a few corpses but not even breaking a single brick.

Yukihiro Hirata is depressed.

Ever since he saw his brother-in-law and his family of three blown to pieces, he sat on an ammunition box below the hill, his military knife across his knees, staring silently at the ground, as if his soul had been taken away.

Kenji Suzuki knew that the 29th Regiment was now essentially without a commander.

But he cannot back down.

His Excellency Itagaki's orders are written very clearly: Fengtian City must be captured today.

The Kwantung Army headquarters had staked everything on this siege.

If they fail to capture Fengtian, the 180 lives of the Kawashima Squadron will have been lost in vain, and he, as the regimental commander, will lose his head.

More importantly, those expatriates should not have died in vain.

Although he ordered the cannons to fire, the real culprit who killed those expatriates was the devil on the city wall.

He wanted to drag that devil off the city wall, cut off his head with his own hands, and offer it as a sacrifice to the imperial people who died under cannon fire and swords.

"Messenger!" he shouted suddenly as he turned around.

"exist!"

"Order the entire 3rd Reserve Battalion to engage in battle."

"Tell Major Ogura, the battalion commander, this is the final blow."

"From now on, there are no tactics, no formations. Everyone will advance simultaneously from three directions, regardless of casualties or cost."

"Even if we have to fill the moat with corpses, we must take Fengtian City by this evening!"

The messenger hesitated for a moment, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, before finally standing at attention and saluting.

"yes!"

The 3rd team is Suzuki Kenji's last card.

This battalion, with a full strength of 1,200 men, was composed entirely of soldiers from rural areas of Kumamoto Prefecture and was the most elite unit of the 4th Regiment.

Upon receiving the order, Major Ogura, the battalion commander, did not hesitate and drew his sword, slashing it at the soldiers behind him:

"Warriors of the Empire! Avenge our fallen comrades! Ducks, please!"

Twelve hundred fresh troops poured out of the sorghum fields on the north bank of the Hun River.

They were highly skilled in combat, spreading out in squadrons and advancing towards the city wall under alternating cover. Grenadiers followed behind the infantry, stopping every fifty meters to fire a grenade at the city wall.

The firepower on the city wall has noticeably weakened.

Yuan Lang knelt behind the crenellation, his Type 95 automatic rifle pressed against his shoulder, and a short burst of fire knocked down two Japanese soldiers who were setting up ladders.

He glanced at the magazine; there were only ten rounds left. He pulled a new magazine from his tactical vest and discovered it was the last one.

"Ammunition!" he shouted behind him.

"It's gone!"

The soldiers' voices came from behind the crenellations not far away, mixed with the dense gunfire.

"The last box of rifle ammunition has been distributed! There are less than fifty pistol rounds left!"

Yuan Lang gritted his teeth, slammed the last magazine into the gun, and continued firing.

The Marines he brought were each equipped with six magazines, plus a few boxes of ammunition in the cabin, totaling just over 20,000 rounds of ammunition.

I've been playing since midnight, and I've already used up nearly 80% of my energy.

Although the Type 95 assault rifle is accurate and fierce, it also has an astonishingly fast bullet absorption rate.

A short burst fires three rounds, while a long burst fires seven or eight. Since the start of the battle, at least a thousand Japanese soldiers have fallen to their guns. But the cost is that they are running out of ammunition.

On the high ground on the north bank of the Hun River, Kenji Suzuki also noticed the weakening of the city wall's firepower.

He raised his binoculars and observed for a moment, a sinister smile slowly spreading across his lips.

"They're out of bullets."

He snapped the binoculars shut, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement, "Tell Major Ogura that the Chinese firepower has been reduced by more than 70%. Tell him to speed things up and break through the east gate in one fell swoop!"

"yes!"

The 3rd Battalion's attack became even more ferocious.

Major Ogura ordered the grenadiers to concentrate their fire on the same spot on the eastern section of the city wall.

More than a dozen grenades slammed into the city wall in succession, blasting a gap nearly three meters wide into the already riddled crenellations.

The defenders on both sides of the breach were mowed down by shrapnel. Before the survivors could even fill the gap, the Japanese infantry had already climbed up through it.

"Kill the chicken!"

A Japanese sergeant was the first to rush to the breach, his saber drawing an arc in the morning light as he cleaved open the chest of a Northeast Army soldier.

The Japanese soldiers behind him surged in through the breach like a tide, their bayonets flashing blood as they stabbed through the narrow city wall.

Zhao Zhenfan led a dozen soldiers to rush over and block the breach, but the number of Japanese soldiers was increasing. The khaki uniforms pouring in from the gap quickly formed an unstoppable torrent.

Zhao Zhenfan's bayonet pierced the stomach of a Japanese soldier, but before he could pull it out, another Japanese soldier's rifle butt smashed into his forehead.

He groaned and fell to one knee, blood gushing from the wound on his forehead, smearing half his face. In a daze, he saw a bayonet being thrust towards his chest...

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out, and a burst of blood erupted from the Japanese soldier's temple as he fell backward, landing on his back.

Zhao Zhenfan turned around and saw Liu Duoquan holding a still-smoking Mauser pistol, shouting at him:

"Don't lie down! Get up, you bastard!"

Zhao Zhenfan shook his head, got up and continued fighting, but the breach was already too big to be plugged.

More and more Japanese soldiers poured in through the breach, forcing the defenders on the city wall to retreat step by step, surrendering nearly a hundred meters of the eastern section of the city wall to the Japanese.

Zhang Xueming stood on the city gate tower, the barrel of the Liao Thirteen rifle in his hand already burning hot.

He glanced at the ever-expanding yellow area on the eastern section of the city wall, then at the points panel in his mind.

[Points: 5201.]

enough.

Just as he was about to exchange for the assassin, a hoarse roar came from behind him.

"Zhang Xueming!"

Zhang Xueliang stood up from the corner at some point, his hands gripping the gaps between the city bricks, his whole body trembling like a leaf.

His face was completely bloodless, as pale as a crumpled piece of Xuan paper, his lips were purple, and his teeth were chattering softly.

As he watched the yellow tide approaching from the east, and the Japanese soldiers whose bayonets were still dripping blood, he completely broke down.

"Did you see that? Did you see that!"

He turned around and roared at Zhang Xueming, his voice cracking and shrill, "The Japanese devils are attacking! They've entered the city!"

"Fengtian is going to fall! It's all your fault! It's all your fault, you madman! You insisted on fighting! You insisted on killing those overseas Chinese!"

"Now look what's happened! The Japanese have invaded! We're all going to die here!"

His tears and snot streamed down his face, but he didn't bother to wipe them away.

He stumbled toward the stone steps inside the city wall, pointing back at Zhang Xueming and cursing as he went:

"You're insane! If you miss, go die yourself! Don't drag me down with you!"

"I'm not playing this game with you! I'm leaving!"

The Northeast Army soldiers around him stopped what they were doing and turned to look at the young marshal who had once filled them with both respect and fear.

Their eyes went from shock to confusion, from confusion to disappointment, and from disappointment to contempt.

A one-armed veteran, leaning on his rifle, stood up from the ground, looked at Zhang Xueliang's staggering figure, and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva on the ground.

"Is this our young marshal?"

He gave a hoarse laugh, filled with sarcasm, "The old marshal's offspring? Bah."

Liu Duoquan stood behind the battlements, his pistol still emitting blue smoke.

He watched as Zhang Xueliang stumbled past him without stopping him.

He looked at the young marshal he had once sworn to serve with all his might with an extremely complex gaze, his eyes filled with disappointment, heartbreak, and above all, an unspeakable sorrow.

He followed the Zhang family for twenty years, from the old marshal to the young marshal, fighting countless battles and shedding countless blood.

He had seen the old marshal calmly smoking his pipe amidst a hail of bullets, seen him slamming his fist on the table and cursing at the Japanese soldiers, and seen him whipping deserters with a horsewhip to make them return to their positions.

Now, the old marshal's son, the commander of the Northeast Army, thought of running away as the city fell.

"stop."

A deep voice came from the city gate tower.

Zhang Xueming walked down from the city gate tower and blocked Zhang Xueliang's way.

"Get out of the way!"

Zhang Xueliang reached out to push him, but when his hand touched Zhang Xueming's chest, it was as if he had pushed against a wall, and the wall did not budge.

Zhang Xueming looked down at his older brother, who was weeping uncontrollably.

His eyes were filled with utter contempt. "Go back!"

Zhang Xueliang's face flushed red, and he roared in anger:

"I have to leave, I have to survive, I can't let myself die, the Northeast Army still needs me!"

"Hoping you'll be the one to rely on?"

Zhang Xueming sneered, "Then the Northeast Army is truly finished."

"Yuan Lang".

"arrive!"

"Invite the young marshal back to the city gate tower, let him sit in the highest position, and let him see with his own eyes how this battle was won."

"yes!"

Yuan Lang waved his hand, and two marines grabbed Zhang Xueliang's arms from the left and right, lifting him up.

Zhang Xueliang kicked his legs wildly in the air, cursing under his breath, but Yuan Lang had already pulled a cloth belt from his waist and quickly gagged him.

Then they dragged him back to the city gate tower and pressed him onto a grand chair that had been salvaged from the ruins.

The chair faced the gap in the eastern section of the city wall where Japanese soldiers were still pouring in, offering an excellent view of the entire battlefield's horrific state.

Zhang Xueliang's pupils suddenly contracted.

He sat there, his hands gripping the armrests of the armchair tightly, his fingernails digging into the mahogany, his legs trembling violently.

The knees of his military trousers were soaked in blood; it was impossible to tell whether it was the prisoner's blood or his own urine from fear.

Zhang Xueming stopped looking at him.

He turned around, facing the soldiers still fighting desperately below the city wall, and took a deep breath.

"System, exchange five thousand assassins for me!"

[Ding, Points: 5201.]

[Confirm the exchange of 5,000 elite assassins?]

"confirm."

[Redeem successful! 5000 points consumed. Remaining points: 201.]

Five thousand elite soldiers are in position, with maximum loyalty. Their equipment includes Liaoning 13 rifles, German-made M35 steel helmets, and German-style bayonets.

Zhang Xueming opened his eyes.

Suddenly, a sound came from the stone-paved road inside the city wall, as if a group of people were stepping on the stone slabs in an orderly fashion, each step on the same beat.

The soldiers on the city wall all turned their heads away.

On the main street of Fengtian City, an army was marching towards the east gate.

They wore grey-blue Northeast Army uniforms and German-style M35 steel helmets, which reflected a cold, eerie grey luster in the morning light.

Each person held a Liaoning 13 rifle, bayonets already fixed, the blades gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

Their formation was astonishingly orderly.

Viewed horizontally, they formed rows; viewed vertically, they formed columns; viewed diagonally, they formed lines. The military boots clattered on the stone pavement with a unified sound, and the footsteps of five thousand men merged into a tremendous roar.

The burly officer at the front looked up and glanced at Zhang Xueming on the city wall.

His face was angular, and beneath his brow bone lay a pair of emotionless eyes, as cold as stones pulled from an icy river.

He stood at attention and saluted, raising his right hand with the five fingers together to the brim of his helmet, a clean and crisp movement.

"Reporting, Commander! The First Regiment of the First Division, with a total of 5,000 men, has completed assembly! Requesting instructions!"

The sound was loud and clear, echoing several times on the stone-paved street before dissipating.

Zhang Xueming stood on the city wall, raised his right hand to his forehead, and returned a standard military salute.

"Attack!"

The officer lowered his arm, turned around, drew his pistol from his waist, pointed it upwards, and glanced at the five thousand soldiers behind him.

"kill!"