Volume One, Chapter 12: A Brutal Defeat! Our Independent Regiment Has Never Suffered Such a Loss!

The battle was over, but the bloodstained scent lingered thickly in the valley, refusing to dissipate.

When Li Yunlong, Zhao Gang, and Lin Mo arrived at the scene with their men, they fell silent at the sight before them.

The soldiers of the First Battalion were silently carrying out the bodies of their comrades one by one, lining them up on the ground.

Twenty-three bodies.

Twenty-three vibrant lives—just an hour ago, they had been laughing and talking excitedly about the new rifles issued to their squad.

Now, they lay cold and lifeless.

Some had faces shattered by bullets; others were mutilated by grenade blasts.

Tears welled up in Li Yunlong’s eyes.

He approached one body and knelt down.

It was Liu Gen, a young guard squad soldier, only seventeen, enlisted for half a year, known throughout the regiment as a clever lad.

At this moment, a huge bloodied hole gaped in his chest. His eyes remained wide open, as if refusing to believe he was dead.

Li Yunlong reached out to close his eyes, but his hand trembled violently, unable to do so.

“Damn it…”

He suddenly stood and slammed his fist hard against a nearby rock; blood oozed from between his fingers.

Like an enraged lion, he paced back and forth in the valley, cursing relentlessly.

“Damn it! Damn it! Twenty-three! Twenty-three brothers!”

“I’ve fought for so many years, but never suffered such a loss! At our doorstep, they sneaked in and wiped out twenty-three of my men!”

“Zhang Dabiao! Duan Peng! What the hell are you two doing?!”

His roars echoed through the valley, filled with endless fury, guilt, and heartbreak.

Zhang Dabiao and Duan Peng hung their heads silently, their faces etched with grief and shame.

Zhao Gang came over and patted Li Yunlong’s shoulder, his voice hoarse: “Old Li, stop cursing. The soldiers… they did their best.”

He too was torn apart by pain.

He knew all twenty-three men—some he had personally taught.

“Did their best?” Li Yunlong turned, eyes bloodshot, glaring at Zhao Gang. “Did their best and we lost twenty-three men? We had new guns, the terrain advantage, it was an ambush we set! And yet, a dozen or so damn Japanese wiped out twenty-three of us! What do you call that? It’s a damn disgrace!”

This was the worst defeat the Independent Regiment had ever suffered since its inception.

Before, when fighting the Japanese, they accepted heavy casualties due to lack of weapons and outdated equipment.

But this time, they clearly held an overwhelming advantage.

Lin Mo silently approached the bodies of the enemy soldiers, inspecting their equipment and remains.

He ignored Li Yunlong’s outburst, his own heart burdened with immense sorrow and guilt.

It was he who had led the enemy here.

He who had provided the troops with advanced weapons, yet failed to give them enough time to adapt and train.

“Captain Li, don’t be angry yet.” Lin Mo stood, holding a silenced pistol and a strange-looking stun grenade taken from the enemy’s bodies.

“Look at these.” Lin Mo handed the items to Li Yunlong. “Silencers, stun grenades, throat-vibration radios, special steel wire saws… These aren’t ordinary soldiers; they’re special forces, the elite of the elite.”

“Their individual skills, tactical coordination, and equipment far surpass ours. The fact that we wiped out fifteen of them at the cost of twenty-three of ours— in a sense… we’ve already won.”

“Won?” Li Yunlong snatched the pistol and slammed it onto the ground fiercely. “I don’t want this bullshit victory! I want all my men alive!”

He pointed at the bodies on the ground and shouted at Lin Mo, “You’re so capable, aren’t you? You can make guns and cannons? Then bring all my men back to life!”

It was the first time Li Yunlong had vented such fury at Lin Mo.

His words stabbed deep into Lin Mo’s heart.

Lin Mo’s lips moved, but no words came out.

Indeed, he could build instruments of death, but not miraculous cures to save lives.

Before the cold face of death, his proud skills seemed utterly insignificant.

Zhao Gang could no longer watch and grabbed Li Yunlong, “Old Li! Calm down! Why are you angry at him? If not for Lin Mo’s early warning system, we wouldn’t have even spotted them. Without timely detection, not only the research institute, but our entire regiment headquarters would have been wiped out! Don’t you realize that?”

Li Yunlong froze, his chest heaving wildly as he gasped for breath.

Indeed, without Lin Mo’s “gadgets,” tonight’s losses would have been far worse than just twenty-three.

He looked at Lin Mo’s pale, guilt-ridden face, and much of his anger evaporated, replaced by endless regret and fear.

“Damn it…” Li Yunlong sat down heavily, clutching his head like a helpless child.

This battle was like a bucket of cold water, sobering everyone.

All joy at victory vanished, replaced by a renewed awareness of war’s brutality and a profound reflection on their own shortcomings.

For the first time, they realized what kind of terrifying enemy they faced.

For the first time, they understood the vast gap in weapons and tactical thinking between themselves and the foe.

Lin Mo silently tended to the bodies of his comrades; his fingers touched the cold corpses, and his heart plunged into a freezing abyss.

He vowed to create better weapons, superior equipment!

He would make every soldier of the Independent Regiment a battlefield death angel, feared by the Japanese.

He would ensure that tonight’s tragedy would never repeat.

Meanwhile, as the Independent Regiment mourned their fallen, an urgent telegram arrived from the First Army Command of the Japanese North China Army in the hands of Yamamoto Kazuki.

“Kuromajima squad… total annihilation?”

Yamamoto Kazuki held the telegram, his hands trembling, eyes filled with disbelief.

How was this possible?

That was his most elite reconnaissance team!

They were completely wiped out?

An unprecedented wave of shame and fury surged within Yamamoto Kazuki.

He slammed his fist on the table; maps and documents scattered into the air.

“Li Yunlong… Mr. Lin!”

A flame of vengeance ignited in Yamamoto Kazuki’s eyes.

He realized he had gravely underestimated his opponents.

That “Mr. Lin” was not only a technical genius but also a meticulous tactician.

Yamamoto Kazuki swore to exact revenge—by the most frenzied, blood-soaked means.

He would make the Eighth Route Army, Li Yunlong, and that “Mr. Lin” pay a hundredfold, a thousandfold for the death of the Kuromajima squad.

A greater storm was brewing.