Arc of Fire

Wang Zhong was actually dreaming at this time.

He dreamed he had returned to the real world, holding New Year’s goods and just entering the neighborhood where he grew up.

As a result, all the neighbors in the community were a blur of blood and flesh.

He dreamed that he had reached the bottom of his own building, and Neighbor Zhao, who was playing chess, had only half his head left.

Yet, Wang Zhong wasn’t frightened by these bloody figures; it was as if everything was normal, an ordinary daily sight.

He went upstairs, arrived at his own door, and saw his parents pasting the “fu” character upside down.

His father was standing on a stool, his left eye a gaping hole, the eyeball dangling out, connected only by a single nerve to the socket.

His mother had a terrifying wound on the top of her head, where her brain could be seen.

Wang Zhong seemed to finally sense something wrong and asked, “Dad, Mom, how did you end up like this?”

"We’re dead, killed by the invaders,” his father said.

"And you’re talking about us,” his mother teased, “At least we’re still whole. You’ve only got your head left when you came back!”

Wang Zhong looked down and, indeed, found he had no body; in the next moment, the New Year’s goods he should have been holding spilled all over the place.

Then he woke up.

When he first opened his eyes, the bright light blinded him, and it took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light before everything in front of him came into clear view.

He sat up suddenly, confirming his body: thankfully, it was all there.

At that moment, a girl’s voice entered his ears: “You’re awake!”

Wang Zhong’s brain was still short-circuiting, wondering why there was a girl’s voice.

Following the voice, he saw a pretty girl with silver-white hair sitting by the bed, looking at him with concern.

Behind the girl was another girl, with braided hair, quiet and demure looking.

Wang Zhong stared at the two girls for a few seconds before he remembered that he had transmigrated, and the country he was in was resisting the invasion of the Prosen Empire.

Then in his mind flashed the scene of Prosen soldiers slaughtering the old lady Ilynichna’s family in the basement.

At this time, Wang Zhong’s brain was still feverish, and he could only vaguely remember that after seeing this scene, he himself, in a fit of rage, had personally driven a tank to repel the enemy’s offensive.

At this point, the docile girl with braids handed him a water bottle: “You need to drink water, Count. Just now, you fainted because of dehydration.”

Wang Zhong took the water bottle and gulped down all the water, then pushed the empty bottle back into the girl’s hands.

After that, he stood up.

"Wait a moment, you’re still feverish!” the silver-haired girl tried to stop Wang Zhong, reaching out to hold his shoulders.

But Wang Zhong said, “I have things to do, Ludmila!”

It was then that Wang Zhong suddenly remembered her name was Ludmila, and the other girl’s long name started with Sofiya.

Having fully recalled the events, he switched to an overhead view to confirm the enemy’s movements.

The enemies had all retreated to the reverse slope of the western hill, and Wang Zhong could barely make out some of the enemy through the overhead view— they seemed to be the same group who had attacked in the morning.

The commander was still that cyclops.

If the enemy’s strength had not increased, then even an assault shouldn’t be too worrisome.

Wang Zhong knew that the remaining tanks of the enemy were designed for anti-tank combat, unsuitable for supporting infantry in an assault—their cannons had a small caliber and low charge, relying on high velocity to penetrate tank armor.

After confirming this, Wang Zhong switched back to his original viewpoint.

His recent fainting was probably also related to the racing in the overhead view, which he had done too long and too intensely, leading to motion sickness.

Wang Zhong stood up.

Ludmila hesitated, missing the chance to stop him.

Though his steps were unsteady, Wang Zhong still strode out of the room where he had been lying.

As soon as he left the room, the smell of blood nearly made him faint on the spot.

He saw mountains of gauze, all soaked with blood, colored a dark purple.

A few young nurses were working hard to deal with the gauze while crying.

Seeing Wang Zhong, they quickly stood up, trying to adjust their uniforms.

Wang Zhong nodded, “Carry on with your work.”

Having said that, he steadied his shaky steps and walked past the mountain of gauze into the next door.

The smell of blood was even stronger here, mixed with an indescribable stench.

The wounded soldier lying by the door tried to sit up and salute as soon as he saw Wang Zhong enter, but he struggled in vain as he couldn’t rise—his left arm was missing beyond the forearm, wrapped in a bandage soaked with blood, and he simply couldn’t support his upper body.

Wang Zhong stepped forward and pressed down on the soldier’s shoulder, “Just lie down and rest.”

As soon as he spoke, all eyes turned toward him.

As a result, all the lightly wounded soldiers stood up, and the more severely wounded soldiers also exerted themselves to sit up.

Every single person strained to lift their chin, noses pointed to the sky.

The wounded soldiers whose right hands could still move saluted Wang Zhong in unison.

Wang Zhong paused for a moment, then raised his hand in return, “You have all completed your mission. Recover well. Where is Yegorov? Why hasn’t he organized carts from the locals to evacuate you?”

"We’ve been sent.” A person dressed as a doctor told Wang Zhong, “Every cart in the village has been hired. These are the lightly wounded, waiting for the carts to return and take a second trip. But with the current situation, it’s questionable how many carts will come back.”

Wang Zhong, “No matter how many come back, evacuate as many as possible.”

Having said this, he stepped forward again and walked through the ward.

In the courtyard outside, many corpses were laid out, all classified as having no value for rescue after being brought to the field hospital—poor souls.

Witnessing this scene, Wang Zhong wanted to remove his hat in respect, but when he raised his hand to his forehead, he realized he wasn’t wearing a hat.

As he turned around, he saw Ludmila holding his hat and following behind him.

"Thank you.” Wang Zhong took his hat, planning to hold it over his heart in a moment of silence, but that would take too much time. So he instead chose the soldiers’ way, putting on his hat and saluting all the bodies lying on the ground.

Afterward, he passed through the yard and went out the door onto the streets of Peniye.

There was a street barricade on the road, made of furniture and sandbags—Wang Zhong was certain this hadn’t been there in the morning during the defense battle. He must have been unconscious for quite a while, long enough for Yegorov to command the construction of temporary fortifications with sandbags.

Two individuals chatting behind the street barricade sprang to attention as soon as they saw Wang Zhong.

Someone shouted, “The Count is awake!”

In the next instant, the young soldiers of the third reserve Amur Group scattered in various buildings all ran out.

A platoon leader berated loudly, “What is this, a zoo? Form ranks, eyes right—dress!”

His platoon instantly formed up in front of the houses, on the strewn debris of the street.

Seeing this platoon organize, the other platoon leaders snapped to attention, and shortly after, the Ante infantrymen who had been defending the street were all assembled and in formation.

Wang Zhong hesitated for just a moment, losing the chance to stop them from forming ranks. Now, as he looked at the troops lined up along the street, he was the one feeling awkward.

At that moment, Yegorov came running over, “Count, why have the troops assembled?”

Wang Zhong thought to himself, I have no idea either, but faced with Yegorov’s serious expression, and the even more stern face of Staff Chief Pavlov who accompanied him, he could only say, “I think we need to boost morale.”

Yegorov, “I see. The soldiers have all been speaking of your bravery. Your speech will surely inspire them greatly.”

Wang Zhong was dumbfounded but had no choice but to go along with it.

Fortunately, as a transmigrator, he had plenty of material he could crib from.

Wang Zhong took a step intending to climb onto the truck parked by the roadside, but his weak legs from the fever made it impossible for him to get on. However, Yegorov, Ludmila, and many others rushed over to assist him, hoisting him onto the bed of the truck.

Wang Zhong stood in the truck bed and announced loudly, “Soldiers! Comrades! We have defeated the Prosen Empire!

"Though this is but a small, insignificant victory, it proves one thing: if we each do our duty, without negligence, without errors, making the best arrangements, we will prove once again that we can defend our homeland, keeping it safe through the storm of war!

"We can defeat the seemingly invincible Prosen invaders!

"Even if it takes many years, even if we fight alone!

"I know that many historic, glorious kingdoms have already been trampled under the Prosen iron hoof, I am aware that many countries have fallen into their darkest hours, ravaged by the Prosen iron hoof.

"Even so, we must never lose heart! We will persist to the end and usher in victory!

"We shall fight them in our homeland’s fields!

"We shall fight them on the snowy plains!

"We shall fight them in the skies!

"We will never surrender!

"Until the day we drive the last Prosen out of our sacred homeland!

"Until the day we bring the flames of war to their land!

"Until the day we plant the flag of victory upon the Plathen Emperor’s palace! Hoorah!”

All responded in unison to Wang Zhong:

"Hoorah!”

The deafening roar of “hoorah” soared to the heavens.