Starting from the Planetary Governor

"We... can only say we've done our utmost, the enemy won't completely occupy Crook Manor before my death."

"Okay, I understand,"

Jason Morgan turned and left.

He didn't return to the manor. Instead, he took a megaphone and announced the harsh reality to the nearly two thousand soldiers guarding the last line of defense outside Crook Manor's walls.

The core message, of course, was that the soldiers had to hold on until nightfall tomorrow. He promised them that help from the alliance would definitely arrive before darkness fell.

This assertion had meaning.

The morale of the soldiers was tangibly boosted.

Winning the battle on their own, beating back the aberrant beasts, might be difficult, but if it was just holding out until nightfall, then... wasn't there a glimmer of hope?

The shadow of three defeats lifted somewhat.

Having a strong will to fight is one thing, but fear of death is another. Suffering over 35% casualties without deserting was already fitting for a militia; the fact that a few words from Jason Morgan could inspire them was partly thanks to the rousing techniques and rhetoric he had learned, but more importantly, it was because the militia really was reliable.

However, despite this, the restored morale didn't last long.

When the enemy attacked again, the acidic bombs lobbed by biochemical artillery from ten kilometers away once again exploded upon their position, the militia couldn't help but waver uncontrollably.

If facing biochemical gas shells, the soldiers could temporarily wrap their faces tightly with cloth and hide behind fortifications, praying the corroding bombs wouldn't land right on them, then when biochemical artillery fire temporarily ceased, and the enemy began their frontal assault, their remaining strength was not enough to hold back any longer.

Full-fledged Pus Spewers weren't the ones Gu Hang had encountered at the edge of the forest near Weixing City, those pulled out early by the Primordial Wrath Owl Sect with a range of only fifty meters. The Pus Spewers now appearing in front had the capability to hit targets with a viscous stream within a range of two hundred meters.

They had negligible penetrating power, but their severe corrosiveness couldn't be blocked by the militia's mere cloth uniforms after contact.

Those with quick reflexes, whose skin remained untouched, could save their lives by swiftly stripping off their clothes; those slower, however, soon found their uniforms corroding and sticking to their skin, then they faced a pain intense enough to rob them of their combat ability, but not quickly enough to kill.

As more undead dogs broke through the lines, the militia couldn't hold back any more.

The fourth defensive line lasted three hours after the enemy bombardment began; it held only thirty minutes after the frontal assault commenced.

Collapse, happened for the fourth time.

And this time, it was even more disastrous.

The enemy had clearly committed significant forces to the attack. During the rout, the undead dogs that broke through became even more terrifying killers.

These quadrupedal beast-shaped monsters were far superior in speed, agility, and flexibility. They'd fall after a couple of shots, but the zombies, quick to hop and swerve, weren't so easy to hit. When overtaken swiftly by these creatures weighing thirty to forty kilograms, the soldiers were often quickly bitten to death.

Jason Morgan, observing the situation from a watchtower within Crook Manor's wall, had his face entirely ashen.

Just now, when the enemy launched a full-scale attack, he wanted to stay at the outer defense line to boost morale, but he was forcibly pulled back by the military observer beside him who fought desperately to do so.

When necessary, that person would have no problems with such actions.

That's the admirable tradition of the Red Hats—lead by example to inspire troops.

However, the collapse of the fourth line was not an issue of morale.

Never mind whether Jason Morgan staying there could indeed enable everyone to conquer the fear of death and face the battle fearlessly, even if he could achieve that against all odds, it would be meaningless.

It would only lead to the annihilation of all soldiers on that line.

Now, by pulling back, they could rely on the stronger defense of Crook Manor's wall to hold a bit longer.

That meant Jason Morgan couldn't die on the front line.

If he died, it would be a severe blow to morale.

Mr. Morgan, having realized this, could only return in bitterness, watching from the tower as the militia outside the wall kept falling, his heart in agony.

Except for those who had already fled inside the walls, almost all those still outside had been sentenced to death. Morgan couldn't even open the doors to let the surviving militia in, lest the wave of aberrant creatures might surge straight through.

Reinforcements trickling into Crook Manor from the rear were positioned atop the walls to shoot outside, helping to alleviate the pressure on the militia troops below. Those below were instructed to hold their positions and promised that they could enter after temporarily repelling the enemy's attack.

Of course, it was despairing.

"What's this about repelling the enemy's attack?"

By now, anyone could tell that the Aberrant Beasts' momentum was fierce; how could we repel them?

Isn't it obvious they're sending us to our deaths?

Many anxious militiamen even started cursing aloud at the foot of the city.

But in the end, the worst-case scenario did not unfold.

The militiamen below, knowing full well that they had been effectively abandoned, did not choose to shoot at their comrades on the walls at this critical juncture.

There was no infighting; instead, they turned around and fought desperately against the ever-closer enemy.

First, they tried to coordinate with the friendly forces on the walls, shooting down the zombie dogs; later on, they strived to exchange fire with the approaching Pus Spewers at a distance of two hundred meters.

During this period, the enemy's bio-artillery unleashed its power once more. The main firepower was still focused inside Crook Manor, but occasionally, bio-artillery shells would land outside, striking the remaining militiamen and causing casualties.

More and more people were dying.

At this time, even Jason Morgan had no more guilt for the decision that in essence sent the soldiers who hadn't made it into the city to their deaths. He had been pulled down from the lookout tower. A few minutes later, the lookout tower where he had been standing was hit by a bio-artillery shell, collapsing amidst rapid corrosion.

It wasn't just there that got destroyed; those walls, though solid in appearance and even capable of bearing soldiers to fire outward, were essentially wooden structures. Under the bombardment of the bio-artillery, they had begun to breach, with the incoming tide of Aberrant Beasts becoming more and more visible through the gaps.

What was said before?

Holding out until tomorrow night?

We won't make it through this evening!

Forget about evening—if we don't fight well enough, and the militiamen's morale slips any further, we might not even hold until noon!

Jason Morgan's heart had turned to ice.

Endless pain surged up within him.

He did not fear death now; he even longed for it.

If Crook Manor were breached, he would rather die right here than live a cowardly life.

This wasn't some training that had brainwashed him; it was his own heart, which couldn't get past that hurdle.

To watch with his own eyes as the refugee camp he had built with all his efforts over the past two months got destroyed, to see the 400,000 Green Valley refugees, who had finally found hope to live because of his efforts, get slaughtered by these Aberrant Beasts...

He couldn't do it.

Compared to witnessing that scene, dying here was an easier choice.

He pulled out his sidearm and said to the military observer next to him, "I want to go to the front line to fight. If I have to die, I want to die in battle."

This time, no one tried to stop him; instead, they also pulled out their guns, "I'll go with you."

The two of them, along with a few guards, started to move forward.

And just as they were prepared to die, they both heard a whistling sound from the sky.

Looking up, they saw three white streaks cutting through the clouds.

Squinting for a closer look, it seemed to be three green aircraft.

Flashes of light appeared, and six streaks of light flashed by. Soon after, from a distance that felt far away, a dull boom was heard.

The sound wasn't particularly distinct, as they were on a battlefield where the noise of gunfire was endless.

However, they distinctly felt something: The enemy's bio-artillery fire seemed to have stopped to some extent.