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

"kill!"

Five thousand bayonets pointed forward simultaneously, the cold light reflected from their blades forming a blinding band of light.

Five thousand people marched forward simultaneously, surging up the stone steps inside the city wall like a gray-blue tsunami, crashing towards the ever-expanding yellow area on the wall.

On the city wall, the soldiers of the Japanese 3rd Battalion were about to rush into the city gate tower.

Major Ogura stood at the edge of the breach, blood still dripping from his saber, the tip pointing towards the city gate tower, preparing to order his soldiers to launch a final assault.

Just then, he heard that earth-shattering killing sound.

He suddenly looked up and saw a gray-blue torrent surging in front of him.

Those men wore German-style steel helmets, carried Liaoning 13 rifles with bayonets pointing forward, and marched in perfect unison, as if measured with a ruler.

They burst out of the streets, their numbers countless, like ghostly soldiers emerging from the ground.

"Where did all these people come from?!" Major Ogura's pupils contracted sharply.

No one answered.

The gray-blue torrent crashed straight into the ochre-colored battle line.

The soldier at the forefront bumped into a Japanese sergeant.

The Japanese sergeant's sword came down at him, but the assassin didn't even blink. He dodged the blade and stabbed the Japanese sergeant in the throat with his bayonet.

The bayonet pierced through from below the Adam's apple and emerged from the back of the neck, the tip of the blade carrying a section of white cervical vertebrae.

He drew his bayonet and, without pausing, continued walking toward the next Japanese soldier.

Another soldier was stabbed through the left shoulder by a Japanese bayonet, and blood gushed out from the bayonet's groove.

He glanced down at the bayonet piercing his shoulder, his expression unchanged, then raised his right hand and plunged the bayonet into the Japanese soldier's eye socket.

The bayonet pierced through the eye socket, the eyeball was squeezed out of the socket and hung on the blade, still trembling slightly.

He kicked the Japanese soldier's corpse to the ground, blood still gushing from the wound on his left shoulder, but he seemed completely oblivious to the pain.

A Japanese platoon leader charged from the side, brandishing his saber, the blade slicing through the air with a sharp hiss.

One of the assassins turned around, grabbed his wrist as he swung his knife with one hand, and closed his fingers together.

With a snap, the bones in the Japanese squad leader's wrist were crushed.

"what!"

He let out a piercing scream as the military knife slipped from his loosened fingers.

The assassin didn't use a bayonet; instead, he grabbed the man by the neck and lifted him up.

The Japanese squad leader's feet left the ground, and he kicked desperately in mid-air, trying to break free by grabbing the assassin's fingers with both hands, but those five fingers were as immovable as if they were cast in iron.

His face changed from red to purple, from purple to blue, and finally his eyes bulged out of their sockets, and his tongue was squeezed out of his mouth.

The entire city wall was transformed into an open-air slaughterhouse.

Five thousand suicide soldiers launched a merciless counterattack against more than one thousand Japanese soldiers.

They didn't shout slogans, didn't speak, and didn't even make any extra noise.

They were just walking, killing people as they walked.

The bayonet was thrust out, pulled out, thrust out again, and pulled out again.

The movements are mechanical and efficient, with no superfluous actions or wasted steps, just like a group of well-trained butchers slaughtering livestock.

Their gazes remained unchanged from beginning to end as they watched the Japanese soldiers scream, howl, and die in front of them, as if they were looking at a pile of lifeless chunks of flesh.

The Japanese soldiers were completely crushed by this calm and collected massacre.

They are not afraid to fight a gritted-teeth enemy with bayonets, but they are afraid to fight a person with a blank expression with bayonets.

It felt like fighting a corpse. Your bayonet was piercing his body, and he didn't even flinch, then swung his sword back and chopped your head off.

This is not a battle, this is a massacre.

They were the ones being slaughtered.

Major Ogura leaned against the barricade, his sword still dripping blood, but his legs were trembling.

He watched helplessly as his 3rd Battalion was cut down like wheat before these cold-faced killing machines, with no chance to resist.

"What the hell are you?!" he roared in Japanese.

One of the assassins heard his roar and turned to look at him.

That glance was the last thing Major Ogura ever saw in his life.

A pair of emotionless eyes, their pupils devoid of any light, like two bottomless black caves.

Then a bayonet was plunged into his chest, passing between his ribs, through his heart, and out through his back.

Major Ogura opened his mouth as if to say something, but only a stream of foamy blood gushed out.

His legs went weak, and he slid down the edge of the stack and sat on the ground, his eyes still open, but his pupils were already dilated.

The massacre continued on the city walls.

More than a thousand Japanese soldiers who stormed the city walls were mostly killed in less than twenty minutes.

The survivors began to run back frantically, jumping out of the breaches, sliding down the siege ladders, and some even jumping off the city walls, breaking their legs in the process, just to crawl away from this hell on earth.

But the suicide soldiers did not give up. They chased after the fleeing Japanese soldiers, rushed out of the breach, jumped off the city wall, fell onto the pile of corpses below, got up and continued the chase.

On the high ground on the north bank of the Hun River, Suzuki Kenji's binoculars fell to the ground with a thud.

His pupils contracted sharply, and the color drained from his face in an instant.

"Where did all these people come from...?"

His lips moved, his voice trembling so much he could barely speak, "This...this is impossible...this is absolutely impossible..."

Through the binoculars, he saw not battle, but slaughter.

The soldiers wearing German-style steel helmets surged down from the city walls, like a swarm of gray-blue ants across the open ground, chasing and hacking away at the fleeing imperial soldiers.

The imperial soldiers ran, fled, crawled, and rolled, but not one of them escaped.

Those gray-blue figures were faster, more ruthless, and more reckless than them.

Their movements were mechanical and cold, like harvesting rice in a field.

Behind Suzuki Kenji, Hirata Yukihiro finally stood up from the ammunition box.

He didn't take out his binoculars; he simply stood quietly on the high ground, watching the gray tide in the distance engulf the yellow remnants of the army.

His expression was so calm that Kenji Suzuki felt a chill run down his spine.

"I told you, you'd regret it."

Hirata Yukihiro's voice was very soft, as if he were talking to himself.

Kenji Suzuki's lips trembled, as if he wanted to say something, but his throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he couldn't utter a single word.

The massacre below the city walls lasted for nearly an hour.

When the last fleeing Japanese soldier fell to the ground after being stabbed in the back with a bayonet, the open area outside Fengtian City had turned into a dark red swamp.

The corpses lay scattered everywhere, covering every inch of land from the city wall to the Hun River.

Blood seeped from thousands of corpses, turning the frozen soil a deep red. It flowed along the field ridges and drainage ditches, eventually merging into the Hun River, turning the river water into a slowly flowing ribbon of blood.

The combined strength of the 4th and 29th Regiments was nearly seven thousand men.

Nearly four thousand people died in the battle to defend the city walls, and of the more than two thousand who managed to climb the walls, most of them were killed by the suicide soldiers.

Adding to the earlier annihilation of the Kawashima Company, the combined number of survivors from both regiments who retreated to the north bank of the Hun River was less than a thousand.

Kenji Suzuki stood on the high ground, looking at the land in front of him that was stained red with blood.

His 4th Regiment was wiped out, and Hirata Yukihiro's 29th Regiment was also wiped out.

The two most elite infantry regiments of the Kwantung Army were reduced to ashes at the foot of Fengtian City.

He slowly crouched down and picked up the binoculars that had fallen to the ground.

One piece of the lens was broken, but he still held it up to his eyes and looked at the Fengtian city gate tower through the remaining intact lens.

In the shot, the young man is standing at the highest point of the city gate tower, with smoke and morning light behind him.

The morning light shone from behind him, bathing him in a golden glow, making him look like a statue.

Kenji Suzuki put down the binoculars and closed his eyes.

He had fought for twenty years and had never feared any opponent. But at this moment, he was afraid.

On the city wall, Zhang Xueming withdrew his gaze, turned around, and walked into the city.

Behind them, corpses covered the plains outside Fengtian City, black smoke still billowed in the air, and the stench of blood was carried far, far away by the north wind.

When he arrived at the foot of the city gate tower, Yuan Lang was taking stock of the battle damage.

The Marines had run out of ammunition in the battle, and of the hundred men, more than twenty were killed and more than a dozen were wounded.

Of the 5,000 newly recruited suicide soldiers, approximately 800 were lost in the battle.

"Commander."

Yuan Lang stood at attention and saluted. "The battlefield is being cleared."

"The remnants of two Japanese regiments have retreated to the north bank of the Hun River, estimated to be less than a thousand men."

Zhang Xueming nodded.

He knew that the battle had been won.

Fengtian has been saved for the time being.

He looked up and glanced at the open window on the city gate tower.

Inside the window frame, Zhang Xueliang slumped in a grand chair, his head tilted to one side, as if he had fainted.

His uniform was stained with saliva and tears, and his crotch was soaked, reflecting an unsightly sheen in the morning light.

Zhang Xueming did not go up to see him.

He simply said one sentence to Yuan Lang:

"Clean him up, so that the people of Fengtian City don't see their young marshal like this."

Then he turned around and walked towards the city.

The points panel was still lit up in his mind.

[Remaining points: 201.]

[Exchangeable items: Soldiers, weapons, ammunition, supplies, skills.]

[Current Battle Status: Battle of Fengtian - Great Victory, Total Japanese Killed: 2,300]

[Points Reward: +8000]

[Current total points: 8201.]

Zhang Xueming's lips curved slightly.