On the northern shore of Bartoya Province, the garrison of the 117th Ten Thousand-Man Unit.
The soldiers digging trenches were in low spirits, their morale having already hit rock bottom.
Across the sea lay Villant Province, the homeland of both their bodies and souls.
They did not understand why they had to point their guns that way, much less what their superiors were thinking or what exactly they were supposed to be guarding against.
If The Alliance wanted to land, wouldn't coming ashore from the southwestern coast be closer?
Making such a huge detour to come here was equivalent to placing their supply line right under the Southern Legion's nose.
What confused them even more were the operations directed at civilians.
Even if it was meant to prevent civilian casualties by temporarily evacuating the elderly, weak, women, and children northward before the war reached the homeland, the entire evacuation plan was far too hasty...
The currents of the Whirlpool Sea did not flow from south to north. They looped in circles.
If corpses washed up on the northern shore, then corpses would surely wash back as well...
On an unnamed beach within the defensive zone of the 117th Ten Thousand-Man Unit, around a dozen people had gathered.
They carried rifles on their backs and entrenching shovels at their waists. Before them lay a corpse bloated from soaking in seawater.
A man with the rank of squad leader had a nearly spent cigarette hanging from his lips, and the creases at the corners of his eyes twisted together like hemp rope.
They all found the man somewhat familiar. It seemed they had seen him at the docks the day before yesterday, yet they had never expected to see him here.
For the corpse to have washed up here, he had clearly