Chapter 63: In just two short years, the Chengyun Army's combat prowess had become utterly terrifying!

Amid the smoke of battle, the ground was littered with the enemy’s corpses, rivers of blood flowing among the smoldering remains of artillery and shattered weapons—grim witnesses to the ferocity of the confrontation. Colonel Wang Muzhi and his regiment, wielding overwhelming firepower and an unbreakable defensive line, were steadily tipping the scales of victory in their favor.

After suffering the loss of over a thousand soldiers, the enemy’s assault finally began to slow, their momentum visibly waning under the relentless resistance. When Lieutenant General Amaya received the latest battle report, anger like a blazing fire leapt in his eyes, his face turning ashen with rage. The suppressed fury could almost be felt from his clenched fists.

“How do these Xin Dynasty troops possess so many heavy machine guns?!” he roared, his voice hoarse, shock and indignation surging within him. He found it almost unbearable that their once-invincible charge tactics had met such a bitter setback.

The battlefield’s sight twisted Amaya’s heart with pain: soldier after soldier in imperial uniform fell under the precise fire of the 211th Regiment, each death silently questioning his command decisions. His troops prided themselves on elite tactics and lean, efficient organization—every man a rigorously selected and highly trained veteran, prepared to expand swiftly and strike like a sharpened blade in wartime.

But now, faced with such unanticipated losses, Amaya was forced to reevaluate both his strategy and his estimation of the enemy’s strength. His face had grown pale, his voice trembled, yet within his eyes burned a fierce resolve.

He would not accept defeat. Each word seemed squeezed out through gritted teeth: “The attack must not stop. These sacrifices cannot be in vain!”

He issued his orders coldly, his tone brooking no refusal: “Continue the assault. At all costs, close to within a hundred meters!”

He believed that, if only his troops could reach close-quarters combat, their rigorous training and valor would turn the tide. “At that distance, our decisive moment with the enemy will come!” A glint of determination shone in Amaya’s eyes, as if he could already see his forces breaking through.

He would tolerate no dissent, fighting for the empire’s honor to the very last moment, no matter how dire the situation. This was a battle of life and death, of glory and sacrifice. Lieutenant General Amaya and his men were prepared to give their all, adding a new, unyielding luster to their banner far from home.

In this land of meager resources, thrift had become ingrained in the enemy’s military philosophy. They strove for each soldier to fire with precision, drastically reducing ammunition expenditure. This frugality resulted in a stingy allocation of heavy machine guns, with greater reliance on the accurate rifle fire of their infantry.

Such tactics had once brought them great success on the Eastern Asian front, convincing many high-ranking officers that even against dense enemy ranks, a few dozen well-trained riflemen could outmatch a heavy machine gun nest.

When Amaya ordered another assault, his battle-hardened infantry responded without hesitation, driven by a near-martyr’s resolve as they charged once more. In a blood-soaked struggle, they finally forced the front line to within that critical hundred meters.

Now, the battlefield had become a festival of death. The enemy used every rise and hollow as cover, engaging the 211th Regiment’s soldiers in desperate, close-range firefights. Gunfire crackled through the night, echoing like the whispers of death.

Though the 211th Regiment wielded superb Mauser rifles, the enemy’s near-fanatical charges and accurate shooting exposed the shortcomings of their own training—time had not granted them the mastery needed for overwhelming dominance in such a firefight.

Tension mounted as the battle raged. In the haze of cordite, every bullet spelled the possible end of a life. The enemy treated their soldiers’ lives as expendable tokens in their assault, revealing an almost inhuman disregard for death and an insatiable hunger for victory. Each charging man either rushed headlong toward death or clawed desperately for a chance at survival in the hail of bullets.

The lines of the 211th Regiment became the stage for this grim dance of death. Soldiers reloaded swiftly by muzzle-flash, their marksmanship pushed to its limits. Yet, faced with the unending waves of attackers, they felt pressure as never before. The Mauser, for all its precision, lost much of its advantage in hand-to-hand combat.

As the struggle wore on, casualties rose on both sides, yet the fires of battle showed no sign of abating. Death continued to lay its shroud over the land.

Inside the command post of the 63rd Infantry Brigade, a tense atmosphere quickly filled the room. A regimental commander, his uniform stained with blood and his face etched with the horror of battle, burst in, worry and frustration etched deep in his features. He reported urgently to Brigadier Li Jian about the dire situation at the front: “Brigadier, the enemy is charging recklessly at our lines, engaging us at point-blank range, bayonets drawn. We can’t match them in close combat!”

Li Jian, an experienced and unflappable commander, listened intently, his gaze sharpening for a moment before regaining its calm. Setting aside his mapping tools, he stood and replied with firm authority: “Order the frontline troops to withdraw from the trenches. Maintain distance from the enemy.”

His command was not just a tactical adjustment; it revealed his confidence in controlling the broader situation. His tone grew even more grave: “At the same time, instruct the third line to deploy rapid-fire artillery at once—hit them hard!” He had foreseen this sudden crisis. Though the enemy’s soldiers boasted precise marksmanship from long training, his own 7th Reinforced Division, though newly formed, had already demonstrated formidable combat power—his pride.

Following Li Jian’s calm orders, the soldiers of the 211th Regiment, led by their officers, quickly and orderly retreated to the safety of the secondary trenches. At that moment, every soldier’s heart brimmed with trust in their brigadier. They believed that by following his plan, they could avert disaster and seize victory.

On the enemy’s side, their reckless charges showed a courage undaunted by death, but faced with the carefully arranged web of firepower from the 63rd Brigade, their efforts seemed increasingly futile. Still, their voices rose again and again: “Victory! The Imperial Army is invincible!” This nearly fanatical morale, this indomitable spirit, suffused the entire battlefield, making the air thick with tension and blood.