Chapter Twelve: Swearing Never to Be a Slave to a Fallen Nation!

"Die, all you Chinese!"
A Japanese soldier roared, kicking a fighter to the ground. His face twisted with malice, and he was about to plunge his bayonet down to finish the man when suddenly he found his leg caught, unable to move. Looking down, he saw that a gravely wounded Chinese soldier was clutching his thigh with all his remaining strength. The Japanese soldier flew into a rage, raised his bayonet, and stabbed it deep into the wounded man’s body. Yet the wounded man seemed impervious to pain, refusing to let go.

“Bastard!”
The Japanese soldier, infuriated, repeatedly drove in his bayonet, withdrawing and thrusting again and again. Blood gushed from the soldier's lips, bits of shattered organs mixed in the flow. But still, the soldier clung to his enemy, even managing a bloody grin at the Japanese. Then, suddenly, he opened his mouth and bit down hard on the soldier’s leg.

With a tearing sound, he ripped off a large chunk of flesh.
“Aaagh!” The Japanese screamed in agony, his face contorted, and he slashed madly with his bayonet, stabbing again and again until the soldier’s body was rent and torn, his abdomen ripped open, even some intestines spilling out.

Yet even now, the dying soldier managed one last blood-soaked smile at the enemy.
Seeing this, the Japanese finally felt fear. He shouted, voice trembling, “Let go! Let go!”
All the while, his bayonet kept slashing.

At that moment, the fighter who had been kicked to the ground seized the opportunity and sprang up, slashing with his knife.
A muffled thud sounded as a head soared into the air and dropped to the ground with a dull thump. The features on the severed head were still clear, the terror of death frozen on his face.
It was the Japanese soldier’s head.
Fueled by rage, the fighter had decapitated his foe in a single stroke.

Witnessing this, the mortally wounded man finally allowed himself a faint, contented smile, then his body went limp and he collapsed, never to move again.

…
Scenes like this played out again and again on that small battlefield. Every fighter summoned their last ounce of strength, resisting the Japanese with unyielding determination.
Though their power seemed pitifully small and helpless against the endless waves of attackers, still they fought with everything they had, seeking only to kill as many invaders as possible.

They understood nothing of grand national ideals, nor could they utter stirring words about loyalty and righteousness. But they knew they were soldiers, paid by their country, sworn to defend their homeland and fight the enemy.
All they knew was that the capital lay behind them, their loved ones stood behind them, and it was up to them to defend and protect.
They knew these men, speaking in strange tongues, were invaders—storming into their homeland, seizing property, occupying land, massacring their compatriots and kin.
They knew these people meant to enslave them, to condemn their descendants to lives of servitude in a conquered land.
They would not allow it.
So they rose up in resistance.
They would rather lay down their lives to defend their country, spill their blood to halt the invader’s advance, and with their very bodies form a wall of iron to stop the Japanese troops.

Perhaps they had never read a book or written a word; perhaps they did not grasp the meaning of “every man bears responsibility for his country’s fate.” But they had eyes, they had ears—
They didn’t understand, but they could see, they could hear!
The cries of thirty million compatriots in the Northeast still echoed in their ears, the suffering of Rehe’s people was vivid in their minds, and the atrocities of the Japanese burned before their eyes.
They knew the foe before them was a pack of vicious brutes, destroyers, invaders!
Perhaps the Japanese were strong, but if they thought they could storm into these homes and commit atrocities at will, they were sorely mistaken.
These men would answer with their blood, their lives, all their strength and courage—to say an unwavering “No” to the Japanese!
In the face of the Japanese army’s endless, relentless assault, these soldiers of the Republic summoned their strength to resist. Though their own power was so frail, they never gave up.
In their actions, they revealed their hearts:
—They would sooner die than become slaves in a conquered land!

“Kill them! Charge! Kill the Chinese!”
The cries of Japanese officers rang out across the battlefield, commanding their forces to storm the positions. It was as if a furious sea had risen, a tidal wave threatening to swallow the tiny outpost at any moment.
With twisted faces, the Japanese raised their rifles and charged at the dwindling number of defenders.
Wave after wave flooded the lines, searching every corner for the fighters of the Republic, determined to hunt them down.
Hearing the approaching footsteps and the strange shouts, even some of the gravely wounded soldiers lying in the trenches suddenly found new spirit.
They exchanged glances, nodding to each other, finding in every gaze the same unbreakable resolve. Then they scattered, seeking their targets.

“Bastard! Here’s a Chinese soldier—wounded!”
A group of Japanese suddenly spotted a badly wounded man, both legs lost, struggling to crawl through the trench. Grins twisted across their faces as they approached, mocking the little soldier.
They were in no rush to kill him, instead circling and laughing loudly, as if taunting his helplessness.

But the young soldier’s expression was calm. He lifted his head with difficulty, looking at the men encircling him. Downy hairs still dusted his cheeks; he looked no older than eighteen or nineteen.
He was muttering to himself: “One, two, three… Ha! Five of you! That’s two extra—worth it.”
The Japanese did not understand his words, but seeing no fear on the boy’s face, only calm, they felt disappointed. As they prepared to kill him, they suddenly froze.
The young soldier looked up at them and grinned—a strange, almost eerie smile.
For a moment, they were stunned.
“Bastard!” They snapped back, infuriated by his lack of fear, taking his smile as a challenge. Their anger flared.