Night, like a thick, dark ink, spilled over the temporary camp in the wetlands.
The defeat was like a heavy hammer, completely shattering the spine of the 103rd Division, an elite unit.
Morale throughout the camp was so low it could weep, and even the usually strict patrols were filled with an air of exhausted perfunctoriness.
Footsteps dragged, the beams of flashlights swept weakly across the ground, occasionally illuminating the undried stains and hollow eyes on the soldiers’ faces.
About 165 feet from the command tent of the 682nd Heavy Regiment, behind a pile of rocks formed by a landslide, the shadows were particularly thick.
Several figures stood like stone carvings, motionless, having lurked there for over 2 hours.
The leader was the officer who had received the secret order from Zhao Zhenwu earlier that day, while behind him were 5 handpicked confidants; these soldiers were silent, ruthless, and absolutely obedient to his commands.
After the lights went out, they slipped out of their tents without a sound, creeping like ghosts to this spot, a blind corner that was often ignored despite being at the intersection of patrol routes.
The air was filled with the scent of damp earth, a faint trace of sweat, and a whisper of metal and gun oil—from their carefully maintained weapons.
Chen Hai’s ears twitched, capturing the rhythm of the patrols.
The intervals were nearly twice as long as required, footsteps were chaotic, and suppressed conversations could not hide their frustration.
“….I heard the 344th Regiment in the east was completely scattered…..”
“The supply truck was ambushed again; rations will be halved tomorrow….”
“Have you contacted Division Headquarters? What did the Deputy Chief of Staff say?”
“What else could he say? Hold our ground and wait for reinforcements…. Where are the reinforcements?”
Complaints, confusion, and despair drifted over with the night wind.
Chen Hai’s lips pulled into a straight line.
This level of morale was the prelude to the chaos he needed.
Time passed bit by bit, the night mist rose, draping the camp in a damp, cold veil.
Finally, the dim yellow light showing through the window of the most prominent, centrally located tent—the dwelling of 682nd Regiment Commander Lu Fan—flickered out.
The officer did not move immediately.
He waited patiently for about 15 minutes, until he was sure there was no movement in the tent and the surrounding patrols had turned to the farthest end of the perimeter.
Only then did he slowly turn his head, the movement so slight it was almost just a rotation of his eyes, toward the short, stocky soldier next to his right.
That soldier was the expert in demolition and mechanisms.
In the darkness, the soldier understood instantly, one hand magically pulling something that looked like a car remote from his tunic.
He then steadily pressed the single button on it.
THUMP….
It was not an earth-shattering roar, but a deep, heavy boom that seemed to be squeezed out from the depths of the earth.
The ground shook violently; not a tremor, but a heart-stopping, brief jolt, as if a giant beast had shifted in its sleep.
Before the aftershocks subsided, the soldier sprang up like a cheetah, raising his service rifle with its extended magazine, pointing the muzzle obliquely toward the empty night sky above the camp.
“DA-DA-DA-DA—!”
Half a magazine of bullets tore through the stagnant air, burning shells flying and carving dark red arcs.
Immediately after, the soldier used all his strength to let out a shriek that did not sound human:
“ENEMY ATTACK—! EAST SIDE! THE EAST SIDE IS UNDER ATTACK—!!!”
This roar was like a giant boulder thrown into a stagnant pool.
After a brief, dead silence, the camp exploded into chaos.
“Where is the firing?!”
“An explosion! There was an explosion!”
“Enemy attack! Guards! Everyone on guard!”
The first patrols to react fell into total disarray.
Some fired blindly in the direction of the explosion, some shouted as they looked for cover, some stood frozen in place, and more soldiers were jolted from their sleep, grabbing their weapons and crawling out of their tents in disarray, faces filled with panic.
Orders, inquiries, collisions, and the occasional accidental discharge of a weapon…. chaos spread as quickly as a plague.
The bonfires were kicked by panicked figures, sparks flying everywhere; the interplay of light and shadow distorted the silhouettes into dancing, snarling monsters.
Chen Hai observed calmly.
The chaos had achieved the desired effect, and perhaps even more.
The area around the 682nd Regiment command tent had also been alerted, and figures could be seen moving about, but they had not yet formed an effective defense.
The time had come.
He stood up first, his movements clean and efficient, and as he did, he reached up, pulling his rank insignias off his shoulders with a rough rip, stuffing them into his pocket.
The 5 men behind him followed suit.
They quickly produced dark gray cloth masks from their waists to cover their noses and mouths, leaving only their cold, ruthless eyes exposed.
“Move.”
With a low command, the 6 individuals quickly formed a tight assault formation; no longer creeping like ghosts, they moved with well-trained, purposeful strides directly toward the core of the 682nd Regiment command camp—Lu Fan’s tent.
Their rhythm was steady as they walked counter to the crowd of panicked people, looking particularly jarring, yet carrying a strange, unquestionable sense of oppression.
“Who goes there? Stop!”
A soldier who had just crawled out of a nearby tent, appearing to be on duty, stood with sleep-heavy eyes, blocking their path.
He instinctively raised his pistol, his voice sharp with tension.
Chen Hai did not stop, nor did his gaze even shift.
The second soldier at his side, a giant as silent as a mountain, moved with speed that blurred the air, firing a single shot that struck the soldier between the eyes.
The soldier who had just spoken instantly gained a small, bloody hole in his forehead, the expression of shock still frozen on his face as his body fell backward like a puppet with cut strings, hitting the ground hard, twitching twice, and then falling still.
Blood quickly pooled behind his head, turning into a thick, black puddle in the dim light.
The sound of the shot was masked by the surrounding clamor, but the sight of death so close by caused the nearby 682nd Regiment soldiers to freeze instantly, their blood turning to ice.
Chen Hai stopped his advance, his gaze as sharp as a hawk as he swept it across the stunned soldiers, suddenly raising his voice so it cut through the chaotic noise and rang clearly in everyone’s ears:
“Someone is colluding with the SHI BIAN TI to attack the camp and cause chaos! I am under orders to apprehend the traitors! Those who block my way—will die!”
The words “colluding with the SHI BIAN TI” pierced the soldiers’ hearts like a poisoned thorn.
The horrific rumors of high-ranking officers defecting within the 103rd Division were no longer a secret, and on this night of defeat and despair, they added a ghostly color to everything.
Looking at Chen Hai and his 5 men—masked, rankless, and brimming with killing intent—and then at the cooling corpse of their comrade on the ground, the soldiers’ Adam’s apples bobbed, their lips trembled, and their knuckles went white as they gripped their guns, but in the end, they dared not raise their muzzles, instead taking half a step back and clearing the path.
Chen Hai ignored them and kept the team moving, focused entirely on Lu Fan’s tent.
The tent was right in front of them.
Chen Hai did not hesitate for a second, ripping the heavy canvas curtain aside and stepping inside.
The space inside the tent was not small, and the furnishings were simple.
A cot, a folding table, a few chairs, and a large, worn tactical map hanging on the wall.
The lamp on the table was still on, providing a dim yellow source of light.
Lu Fan was just sitting up from his cot, clearly awakened by the explosion and the commotion.
There were bloodshot streaks in his eyes from being jolted awake, a deep exhaustion, and a flash of alertness he could not hide in time.
The officer pulled off his mask, revealing a cold face marked by a scar, the corners of his mouth curling into a heatless arc as he held his gun steadily aimed at Lu Fan’s forehead.
“Commander Lu,” his voice was flat, like someone reading a boring document, yet every word was cold, “I am hereby executing you on-site for the crimes of endangering the security of the Huafu, desertion in the face of the enemy, and espionage by colluding with the SHI BIAN TI to sell military secrets.”
The list of charges was chilling and intent on murder.
Lu Fan’s pupils shrank to pinpoints, his heart gripped as if by a cold, icy hand.
But he was, after all, a commander tempered by the fires of war; after the extreme shock, a cold, clear-headedness swept through his mind.
He did not look at the lethal muzzle, but stared instead into the officer’s face, his gaze sharp enough to pierce through any disguise.
In a split second, the doubts of the past few days, the strange orders, the suspicious loss of contact with Division, the indescribable feeling of pressure from Zhao Zhenwu…. countless fragments collided and pieced themselves together in his head. A clear, horrific pattern emerged.
He spoke slowly, his voice slightly hoarse from tension, but carrying a chilling, sharp realization: “‘I see…. So the Deputy Chief of Staff wants to…. silence me permanently.'”
Chen Hai’s cold smile deepened slightly, and a flicker of subtle mockery flashed in his eyes, as if he found it laughable—and perhaps a little pathetic—that Lu Fan only “understood” now.
“Enough talk.”
Chen Hai stepped forward, the muzzle now less than 3 feet from Lu Fan’s forehead, “Wouldn’t it be better to just die fighting on the front lines with your soldiers?”
“Why not be a smart man, be a good commander, and follow orders?”
“Why must you get to the bottom of everything, or insist on reporting the situation to the military headquarters….”
He shook his head, his tone even carrying a hint of regret: “Lu Fan, oh Lu Fan, Lu Sanshan used to be able to protect you, but can’t you see what the situation is now?”
As he spoke, his thumb moved, switching off the safety of his pistol, the crisp click sounding particularly harsh in the quiet tent.
“In your next life, remember,” Chen Hai took one last look at Lu Fan, as if looking at a dead man, “don’t talk so much, and don’t poke your nose into other people’s business.”
His index finger pulled the trigger.
The action was decisive, without a moment of hesitation.
The muzzle flared, the hot airflow disturbing the air, as a bright yellow bullet rotated and flew at a speed the naked eye could never capture, tearing through the short space, aiming straight for Lu Fan’s forehead!
The scent of death was thick and palpable.
Lu Fan could even feel the hot, high-speed wind caused by the bullet on his face.
Time stretched infinitely in that moment; he could almost “see” the trajectory of the rotating bullet and “hear” its scream as it tore through the air.
All struggle, anger, and unwillingness seemed doomed to vanish before this small, metal creation.
However…..
Just as the tip of the bullet was about to touch his skin, a millionth of a second before impact, an anomaly occurred!
In front of Lu Fan’s forehead, the air seemed to become a viscous surface, rippling ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly to the human eye.
No sound, no light burst, no earth-shaking scene.
The bullet, which had been destined to hit its mark, simply vanished into thin air.
It was like a pebble thrown into a deep pool, not even causing a ripple, leaving no trace behind. Chen Hai’s cold sneer froze, his pupils dilating to their extreme.
His finger, still squeezing the trigger, trembled violently from overexertion.
He could not understand what he had just witnessed.
Where was the bullet?
Did he miss?
No, at this range, it was impossible for him to miss!
Did it pass through?
But Lu Fan’s forehead was completely unharmed!
The light in the tent seemed to warp for a fleeting moment.
A split second later, just behind Lu Fan’s cot, in a spot that had been empty a moment ago, the air—like a pool stirred by an invisible hand—rippled with clearer, transparent waves.
A figure, as if “pasted” into reality from another dimension, appeared without warning, clear and solid.
In the blink of an eye, he was already standing firmly there.
The newcomer was tall, sporting striking, vibrant red hair that looked like burning flames; the strands seemed to move without wind, carrying an unruly arc.
He wore a faint, lazy smile and was dressed in a well-tailored black uniform of unique texture, vastly different from any existing military uniform, with a strangely designed dark gray vest casually worn over it; the vest shimmered with a faint light, outlining complex, non-geometric patterns—one hand tucked into his pocket, his posture as leisurely as if he were just passing by, rather than having just snatched someone from the hands of death.
The red-haired youth moved forward half a step, casually blocking the path in front of the still-stunned Lu Fan, before looking at Chen Hai, who was frozen in place as if he had seen a ghost, with a flippant tone: “You dog, do you even know how to use a gun?”
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