Chapter 1075 - 386: Sorry, Dad, We Can’t Hold the Line Anymore!

Several days later.

Arctic Ring Battlefield.

Cold Bone Fjord.

The wind is an eternal presence in this grey-white land.

At the fjord entrance, behind a large wind-sheltered ice rock.

A makeshift observation post has been barely constructed.

Several frozen stones covered with thick ice shells form a half-human-high barrier.

Above them are frost-soaked.

Already frozen hard Life Ghost Skin and camo netting.

A young recruit, wrapped in a heavy standard leather jacket.

Wearing a cold weather mask and goggles that cover almost half his face.

Huddled behind the barrier.

Though Qi Blood can fend off the extreme cold.

Everyone here tries to use less of it.

Trying to use clothing instead of Qi Blood for warmth.

He tries to shrink his body even smaller, seeking a trace of warmth.

His eyes, however, are fixed intently on the grey-white world outside the barrier stirred by the wind and snow.

Nearby.

An old soldier leans against the cold rock.

He looks over forty, with a face etched by frost and carved with crevices.

His eyes are deeply sunken, wearing a deeply faded old dark gray cotton jacket with frayed cuffs.

Over it, a similarly worn leather vest.

The old soldier slowly pulls out an oil paper packet from his bosom.

Carefully opens it.

Inside are some poor quality tobacco leaves.

In this weather, normal cigarettes can’t be preserved.

But these tobacco leaves can be smoked after a little roasting.

He picks out a relatively intact piece, rolling it carefully.

The cold wind carries snowflakes, madly lashing against the barrier.

Making an eerie wailing sound.

The recruit’s body trembles slightly, uncertain whether it’s from the cold.

Or from the tension brought by the suddenly amplified wind sound in this deathly silent environment.

He instinctively raises his binoculars again.

Looking towards the fjord entrance where the wind and snow are thick.

In his view, besides the swirling snow waves and the distant blurry outline of the Ice Cliff.

There remains that despairing grey-white.

"Old Mo..."

The recruit’s voice, tinged with anxiety, filters through the mask.

"Do you think Dawn’s people will still come? How many days has it been? Didn’t they promise they would have arrived by now?"

The soldier called Old Mo seems not to hear.

Still focused on rolling the cigarette in his hand.

His coarse fingers press the tobacco leaves firmly, then carefully moisten the paper edge to seal it.

"Outside they’re saying maybe they won’t come to Cold Bone Fjord at all."

The recruit, getting no response, continues on his own, his tone carrying disappointment and a hint of betrayed indignation.

"Saying that their promise to support here is just a guise, covering the real place they intend to go, or perhaps Captain Fang thinks we’re too far behind, the merit here isn’t big enough, not worthy of attention..."

He pauses, his voice lowering, carrying a bit of bitter self-mockery: "Well, the City of Dawn is impressive, isn’t it? Built at the entrance of the Life Ghost’s lair, Captain Fang split open Heaven of the Arctic with a single stroke, has all elite under command, and I hear the benefits are unbelievably good, why would they even consider our pitiful fjord to guard..."

Old Mo finally finishes rolling the cigarette.

He cups his palm, shielding it from the raging wind and snow.

In his palm, there’s a small cluster of high temperature gathered from Qi Blood.

He carefully brings the cigarette close to light it.

Takes a deep drag.

Pungent smoke fills his lungs, bringing a momentary burning sensation.

He slowly exhales the turbid smoke.

Letting it be shredded and swept away by the wild wind instantly.

"What’s the hurry."

Old Mo finally speaks, his voice dry and hoarse.

"Those who should come, will come. Those who shouldn’t, hoping is useless."

His tone is impassive.

Showing no emotion whatsoever.

The recruit opens his mouth, wanting to say something, but ends up saying nothing.

Indeed, what’s the use of rushing?

In this cursed place, being able to survive to see tomorrow’s wind and snow is already great luck.

He refocuses the binoculars.

His gaze aimlessly sweeps across the desolate land ruled by wind and snow.

Suddenly...

His body stiffens abruptly.

The hand holding the binoculars starts to tremble violently.

At the edge of his view, deep in that swirling grey-white snow fog, near the corner of the Ice Cliff...

Something seems to be moving?!

"Old Mo! Old Mo!!"

The recruit’s voice suddenly rises, his tone extraordinarily excited.

He puts down the binoculars abruptly and grabs the old soldier’s arm beside him, shaking it forcefully.

"Look quickly! Someone’s coming!! Lots of people!! A dark mass!! Over there! Near the corner of the Ice Cliff!!"

His voice sounds so piercing in the gale.

Old Mo is nearly startled into dropping the cigarette by the sudden movement and scream.

He frowns.

In his eye, that calmness is broken by a hint of displeasure from being disturbed.

He slowly turns his head, casting a murky look at the recruit, who’s almost jumping up with excitement.

Then follows the recruit’s trembling finger’s direction.

Casts a casual glance at that still chaotic wind and snow.

"What’s the panic."

Old Mo’s voice remains bland, numb.

"Is it Life Ghost brats trying some trick again? Or did some unlucky Federation supply convoy lose its way and stumble upon our doorstep?"

He cups his hand to shelter the cigarette’s spark, ready to take another drag.

As if completely unconcerned with the multitude the recruit spoke of.

"No, it’s not Life Ghost, nor lost ones."

The recruit, nearly on the verge of tears from anxiety, babbles incoherently, fervently pointing towards that direction, almost afraid the old soldier might miss something, "It’s an army, it’s a human army!! That flag...that color!!"

He gulps a deep breath, shouting with all his might, a voice piercing the roar of wind and snow:

"It’s Dawn!! It’s Dawn’s army!!!"

"Dawn...Dawn?!"

The shout causes Old Mo’s movement to involuntarily stop.