[Pshh—]
A bright slash of steel flashed diagonally. The three white-robed warriors wearing green collars before Colonel Haros sprayed blood, long gashes splitting them from shoulder to abdomen. The sudden agony sent them collapsing to the ground, wailing madly, only to grow weaker as more and more blood soaked the sand.
The commander of Marine Branch 194 stationed on Watermelon Island swept his eyes across the battlefield, his expression grim.
At some point, the artillery barrage from both sides had ended. As large numbers of Marines charged into the Slave Guard Legion's trenches through cannon fire and bullet rain, the battle had shifted from an exchange of firearms to a brutal melee of cold weapons.
Blades and axes clashed, scattering sparks. Savage faces, blood-soaked sand, crazed howls, corpses everywhere—the entire coastal desert had been utterly enveloped by the savage brutality of this primal slaughter.
At first, the Marines had held the advantage.
But the Slave Guard's forces seemed endless. Every moment, strong young warriors wielding blades and axes emerged from underground tunnels.
Their strength rivaled that of Marines from Headquarters. They feared neither pain nor death and fought with extreme madness. So long as their limbs could still move, they fought like the most fanatical death warriors, using their teeth and fingernails like mindless beasts, refusing to stop until death.
Even the well-trained Marines were gradually finding it difficult to endure such opponents.
Left with no choice, the few senior officers remaining aboard the warships had to land and join the battle. Not only was Colonel Haros fighting, but even Major General Ivan was slaughtering those around him with frightening efficiency in the distance.
It was precisely because of their involvement that the Marines managed to stabilize the situation. Yet reinforcements from the Slave Guard Legion continued to pour in