No Fighting on the Southern Front

The earth was riddled with holes, with shells everywhere blasting the ground into craters, and the trenches dug by the engineers looked like deep scars.

"Boom!"

The shells landed near the crowd, and shrapnel mixed in with the flying dust, causing several more dusty bodies to fall to the ground.

"Ah, it's artillery fire!"

With a short shout, all the soldiers instinctively fell into the trenches in a very short time.

Those who haven't developed this habit are either new recruits brought in from various places or dead people who have been blown to bits.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Sure enough, shells rained down and exploded around them time and time again.

Except for one unlucky guy who was hit in the back of the head by a shell and his head split open, everyone else was almost unharmed.

"Stop!"

"The shelling has stopped!"

"Kassand, they all deserve to Hell!"

Someone cried out in agony, clutching his leg that had been sliced off by a shell, as he rolled around in the trench.

There are no doctors or disinfection methods here. To suffer such severe injuries on the front lines is basically a death sentence.

"Poor Busa!"

The veteran sighed in his usual tone, saying that although he was a "veteran," he was only in his twenties—but that didn't stop people older than him from calling him a "veteran" as well.

The reason is simple: he is the longest-surviving soldier on this battlefield, having been on this position for more than five months.

During this period, his comrades-in-arms changed batch after batch.

Of course, the veteran also had his own name— Bauer Stanton —but everyone still prefers to call him the veteran.

"It hurts so much!"

"Damn it, so this is what it feels like to have a broken leg. It's worse than Hell!"

"Veteran"

Busa was still lying on the ground groaning. He looked at Bauer, his eyes, blurred with pain and tears, revealing a complex expression.

Bauer could see the meaning in it—it was a plea.

Busa doesn't want to live anymore.

Immediately, the surrounding soldiers fell silent, focusing their hesitant gazes on Bauer, seemingly awaiting his decision.

"Damn it."

Bauer spat.

He skillfully cocked the rifle, took a few steps forward, and pressed the muzzle against Busa's temple.

"May you live forever in the Amanata's God Kingdom."

"Thanks."

"Bang!"

A crisp gunshot rang out, and brains and blood splattered everywhere.

Busa was a merchant whose whole family were devout followers of Amanata. He rarely even swore. Three months ago, he was called up to the battlefield by Wilhelm's conscription order.

In the last few minutes of his life, he cursed and swore, using every foul language he could muster, before being shot five seconds earlier.

"Busa was the longest-living of the second batch of comrades. He did nothing wrong, he was just unlucky."

Bauer thought to himself.

He turned around, his expression calm, but his hand holding the gun was trembling slightly.

"Let's go. Although they've already shelled once, things can change in an instant on the battlefield. Who can predict what will happen?"

"Like this unfortunate guy whose leg was shortened by shrapnel."

The remaining dozen or so soldiers continued forward. The veterans, who had faced life and death many times, didn't care, but the new recruits witnessed the death of their comrades-in-arms and were terrified by it.

Life is too cheap on this battlefield.

For some reason, the surrounding air became stagnant, as if it were being soaked in a bowl of thick blood.

Soon, after crossing that all-too-familiar ravine littered with corpses, the soldiers finally reached a safe area.

Suddenly, someone asked, "Old soldier, do you have a cigarette?"

"Get lost. I only managed to find a few packets, and I don't even have enough for myself. If you want more, go check the pockets of those corpses."

Bauer cursed angrily.

He waved his hand, took a crumpled cardboard box out of his pocket, and held it in his hand as if it were a precious treasure.

The surrounding soldiers immediately looked over with longing eyes.

"Wow! Empire Made!"

"Old soldier, you've been hiding such a good thing!"

The cardboard box packaging features a pattern of vertical pupils and flames, along with the blurry words "Empire Made."

The same mark was also found on the wooden grip of the rifle in Bauer's hand.

The soldiers didn't know where these things came from, nor did they care about their meaning—they only knew that cigarettes with this mark were the strongest and best to smoke.

They knew that if Bauer didn't want to share the cigarettes, he wouldn't bring out this precious item.

The soldiers swarmed forward, grinning as they approached, their rough hands sweeping away the previous tension.

"Get out of the way, one person take one—this is for Busa's sake."

"I haven't received mine yet!"

"Wait, me too!"

"You're talking nonsense! What are you holding in your other hand? I just saw you grab one!"

After everyone dispersed with joyful expressions, Bauer looked down at the box containing only one cigarette, his face full of heartache.

"Those bastards."

He took out the cigarette, shielded it from the wind with one hand, and skillfully lit it with the other before putting it in his mouth.

"Call--"

"As expected of products Empire Made, they're powerful and much better than those cheaply made ones."

Bauer leaned against the earthen wall, exhaled a puff of smoke, and couldn't help but sigh softly.

A refreshing feeling rushed to the top of his head, briefly pulling his thoughts away from the battlefield and flying to his distant hometown.

He thought of Strong Town, a small town in eastern Thrace, but one that was so peaceful and beautiful.

At that time, Bauer was just an ordinary blacksmith apprentice. He made a promise with Jenny from the flower shop next door that they would get married once he was able to manage the Blacksmith Shop on his own.

He remembered Jenny's rosy face that night, her shy yet happy smile.

The scene was exceptionally heartwarming, even more beautiful than heaven in his eyes; he could even smell the fragrance of wildflowers emanating from the other person.

But the next moment, the explosion and smoke shattered this heartwarming scene, causing Bauer to cry out.

"Ah--"

He continued to think about it.

The relentless flames of war shattered all of this, and soon, all the young men in the town were conscripted by officers from the Thrace Kingdom, including Bauer.

"Jenny."

"Is she alright now? I heard from those people that Kassand's cavalry has also entered the eastern part of the kingdom."

"Maybe, maybe."

Bauer felt a little worried.

The air was hazy with Gunsmoke and mist from the artillery fire, and he could taste the bitter smoke on his tongue.

Bauer disliked the smell of Gunsmoke, but he enjoyed smoking—because it was one of the few ways to relieve stress on the battlefield.

Each time he exhaled smoke, he felt refreshed, and his tense brain got a moment's rest.

"Damn it."

"War of the Damned."

Bauer took a deep breath and was shocked to realize that the war had penetrated every aspect of his life, leaving no stone unturned.

Even when he tried to escape reality, he could not escape the shadow of war.

As the full-scale war progressed, troops from both sides appeared on each other's territories, and burning, killing, and looting became commonplace—while Bauer was just an ordinary soldier on the southern front.

If one had to pinpoint what made him different from the other soldiers, it would simply be that he lived a little longer.

He can't change anything.

"Veteran"

A timid voice came from behind.

Bauer turned his head and saw a dirty, childlike face.

He was wearing a military uniform several sizes too big for him, with the sleeves rolled up and crumpled at his wrists.

That was Tommy, a new recruit who was said to be only sixteen years old. Because of his strikingly baby face, everyone called him "the kid."

Bauer glanced at him.

"Kid, the cigarettes are all gone."

Tommy shook his head, his expression serious. "No, I didn't come to you for that. I just have a question that I've never been able to figure out and I want you to answer it."

"Any questions?"

Bauer squinted, exhaled a puff of smoke, and said nonchalantly, "I've been on this battlefield the longest. Just ask me anything. The more you know, the longer you live."

"That unlucky guy Busa knows quite a lot, it's just a pity he's so unlucky."

Tommy hesitated for a moment before looking into Bauer's eyes and asking in a low voice, "Do you know why we're fighting?"

Paul's eyes widened immediately; he hadn't expected the other person to ask such a strange question.

Tommy continued, "My father told me that the Holy Fadlan Empire was a unified whole, and that both Thrace and Kassand were proud Imperial Citizen."

"But now, we are fighting and killing each other. Why is that?"

"My father said that Otis betrayed the great Sun God and became an apostle of Hell, and His Majesty Wilhelm has come to stop him."

The surrounding soldiers had gathered around, quite interested in their conversation; after all, there was no entertainment on the battlefield.

Bauer didn't know.

He didn't care about the cause of the war or its significance; he just wanted to survive, return to the town, and marry Jenny.

Bauer wanted to shake his head to indicate that he didn't know, but for some reason, he suddenly remembered a "joke" he had heard from a certain officer.

Then, Bauer said meaningfully, "The old emperor left behind a golden chair. Our Wilhelm wants to sit on it, and that wicked demon king Otis also wants to sit on it, so..."

He deliberately drew out his words at the end, making him sound mysterious.

Tommy was stunned. "This is the reason for the war? So many people have died, so many people have lost their homes, all for a chair?"

"So—what the hell does this have to do with us!"

"It's a joke! No matter how hard we fight or how fiercely we struggle, we're just trying to grab a chair for the people in power."

Bauer smoked the cigarette down to just the tip, which was only about the width of a little finger, and sighed with lingering satisfaction.

"I"

Realizing he had been tricked, Tommy blushed and finally managed to utter a single word after a long pause.

Hahahaha!

"It really is a child!"

The soldiers burst into laughter.

"Child, try your best to live. No matter what the Sun God in the sky is like, I will be content as long as I can see tomorrow's sun."

Bauer stretched, dusted off his uniform, and said this.

He was talking about war, but at this moment, what came to mind was Jenny's rosy cheeks—the future he longed for.

In the distance, the crisp sound of gunfire and the rumble of cannons could still be heard.

At this moment, Bauer, Tommy, and the many smiling soldiers were unaware that their unit, being located on the southern front and closer to the Holy City, had been selected by General Misel Benaserraf as a reinforcement force.

And they are about to head to the most brutal "meat grinder"—the Holy City battlefield.

How many of these vibrant people, laughing, joking, and bickering right now, will actually come back alive from there?

Istaria, the Thirteenth Factory of the Klaubo Wu Military Industrial Group.

The massive machine hummed and spewed out smoke like a giant beast forged from steel.

On that assembly line, in front of those huge machine tools, hundreds of workers are completing their tasks at their respective posts: some are responsible for inspection, some for sorting, and some for assembly.

They were like machines, numbly performing extremely simple tasks, their hands never stopping for a moment.

"You all better watch out!"

"The defect rate of the last batch of goods exceeded 8%!"

"You bunch of idiots, can't you even do such a simple job? The higher-ups are very unhappy!"

The foreman's angry voice echoed in the workshop, making all the workers feel tense.

"Hang in there a little longer."

"We'll be off work in half an hour."

Raj Pink thought so.

He was a worker responsible for sorting parts. His job was simple: to classify different components.

But after six hours of continuous work, he felt dizzy looking at the parts.

"What are you doing!"

A worker nearby made a mistake, letting the defective part slip by, which was spotted by the sharp-eyed supervisor.

The worker quickly apologized, "Yes, I'm sorry, sir, I was distracted."

"This is a one-time exception! If I'm caught again, I'll deduct half a month's salary!"

Upon hearing this, Lajie quickly perked up and forced his eyelids open.

He works here simply to make a living.

money.

As the most developed city in Anzeta, Istaria is very expensive.

For assembly line workers like him, their wages are barely enough to make ends meet; to dream of buying a home in this city is simply wishful thinking.

The foreman said that all these things they made would become exquisite weapons and be sold to the south, each fetching a high price of one Ginar.

That's a Ginar!

Keep in mind that even if he works diligently for a month, he can only earn one Ginar, and that doesn't even include his daily expenses.

And every month, he handles thousands of guns— Lajie often wonders where all the money for those guns goes.

He had no idea.

Perhaps they all ended up in the pockets of those important figures.

The overseer had patiently explained to them that without the Dragon Blood Noble Noble's investment in building the factory and providing the equipment, they wouldn't even have the opportunity to work in Istaria, let alone receive their wages.

Lajie and his fellow workers discussed it for a long time and all agreed that what the foreman said made a lot of sense.

Lajie's idol was also a Dragon Blood Noble —his name was George.

George's story was published in the "Empire Daily" and was very popular among the workers. Lajie even spent money to buy that issue of the newspaper, cut it out, and pasted it in his dormitory.

Baron George came from humble beginnings, having been a serf in the the North. He worked his way up from the bottom as a laborer, striving step by step to eventually become Dragon Blood Noble.

That is the image Lajie had in his mind, and also how countless workers who came to Istaria saw themselves.

"Speaking of which, I've met Mr. George's former coworker before. I think his name was Howard, the foreman from the factory next door."

"I wonder if I'll be able to see Lord George."

Lajie thought to himself.

Suddenly, a sharp shout shattered his beautiful vision.

"Lajie! You're daydreaming too!"

"Sure enough, overthinking every day leads to mistakes! Look, you've put part number two in part number three's section!"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's me."

Lajie broke out in a cold sweat, looking flustered, wanting to explain but not knowing where to begin.

The foreman merely glanced at him before turning and leaving. "Don't bother explaining. This is the second time you've made a mistake this month. You'd better prepare to collect your Silver Ginar!"

Lajie remained where he was, his face ashen, his head bowed, silently sorting through the parts.

His dream is to buy his own small house in the outer city of Istaria and open a flower shop there.

Houses in Istaria are not cheap; even the outermost houses cost thousands of Ginar.

Lajie's salary is one Ginar per month, and half of this month's salary will be deducted.

When will he be able to realize his dream? —Seeking monthly votes—