The night wind howled, sweeping up fallen leaves across the square and stirring the veterans' empty sleeves.
Ito Yūgorō was pinned to a stone pillar, his body convulsing uncontrollably.
Those familiar faces were like demons that had crawled out of hell, their hands locked around his throat.
The gunfire and shelling from decades ago seemed to explode in his ears again.
The smells of gunpowder, blood, and charred bodies...
They mingled together, nearly making him vomit.
"Sound off!"
The one-legged old man suddenly roared.
His voice was hoarse, like two rusty iron plates grinding together, yet it carried enough force to pierce metal and shatter stone.
Thud!
He slammed his cane into the ground.
"Li Erniu, former platoon leader of the 29th Army's Broadsword Unit!"
The old man raised his head and roared with every ounce of strength he had: "Reporting for duty!"
That roar left everyone's ears ringing.
"Zhang Mazi, Second Battalion, Third Regiment, former Sichuan Army 122nd Division! Reporting for duty!"
The old man in the wheelchair gripped the armrests desperately, trying to stand, but both his legs had long since been amputated.
All he could do was thrust out his chest and shout the designation of that long-disbanded unit as loudly as he could.
"Zhao Tiezhu, Reconnaissance Company, former 129th Division! Reporting for duty!"
"Former Hunan Army..."
"Former Guangxi Army..."
One voice followed another.
Their voices carried thick regional accents, the ravages of time, and unbowed pride.
Every unit designation was a chapter of bloodstained history.
Every name was an immortal monument.
The Ito Family's death-sworn fighters, who had still been putting up desperate resistance, were now completely stunned, retreating again and again before these unarmed old men.
The two sides were not remotely in the same league.
This was a crushing of souls.
Ito Yūgorō felt