Ashen Dragon-Chapter 488 - 408 No Battle on the Southern Front

Chapter 488: Chapter 408: No Battle on the Southern Front

Chapter 488 -408: No Battle on the Southern Front

The earth was riddled with wounds, craters everywhere from shell blasts, trenches dug by engineers etched deep scars across the land.

“Boom!”

A shell landed next to the crowd, dust mingled with shrapnel flying, and several dirt-smudged bodies fell to the ground.

“Ah, it’s shelling!”

With a brief cry, all the soldiers instinctively dove into the trenches in an extremely short time.

Those who hadn’t developed this habit — were either new recruits pulled from various places or dead bodies charred by explosions.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!”

Sure enough, shells fell like raindrops, exploding around them again and again.

Except for one unlucky guy hit in the back of the head, everyone else was almost unscathed.

“It’s stopped!”

“The shelling has stopped!”

“Damn Cassandra people, they all deserve to go to Hell!”

Someone howled, clutching a leg severed by shrapnel, rolling in the trench.

There were no doctors here, no means of disinfection, such severe injuries on the frontline battlefield essentially meant a death sentence.

“Poor Busa!”

The old soldier sighed out of habit, though he was called “old soldier,” he was only in his twenties — but it didn’t stop those older than him from calling him “old soldier.”

The reason was simple: he had lived the longest on this battlefield, having stayed on this position for over five months.

And during this time, his comrades had replaced one batch after another.

Of course, the old soldier once had his own name — Bauer Stanton, but everyone was used to calling him the old soldier.

“It hurts!”

“Damn, this is what it feels like to have a leg severed, it hurts more than going to Hell!”

“Old soldier…”

Busa lay on the ground wailing, looking at Bauer with eyes blurred by pain and tears, showing a complex look.

Bauer could see the meaning in them — it was a plea.

Busa didn’t want to live anymore.

All at once, the surrounding soldiers fell silent, their hesitant gazes focused on Bauer, as if waiting for his decision.

“Damn it.”

Bauer spat.

He skillfully chambered the rifle and stepped forward, pressing the barrel against Busa’s temple.

“May you live forever in Amanata’s Divine Realm.”

“Thank you.”

“Bang!”

A crisp gunshot, brain matter and blood splattering.

Busa was a merchant, his whole family devout followers of Amanata. He rarely cursed, he was conscripted by Wilhelm’s order three months ago.

In the last few minutes of his life, he cursed wildly, saying all the dirty words he had ever known, and five seconds ago, a bullet ended his life.

“Busa was the longest surviving among the second batch of comrades, he did nothing wrong, just had bad luck.”

Bauer thought.

He turned around, his expression calm, but his hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

“Let’s go, although they’ve already shelled once, the battlefield changes in a blink, who can guess what will happen?”

“Just like… this poor guy who had his leg severed by a shrapnel.”

The remaining dozen or so soldiers continued moving forward, those seasoned in life and death didn’t care, but the few new recruits were terrified to witness the death of their comrades they had only just met.

Life was too cheap on this battlefield.

For some reason, the surrounding air became stagnant, as if soaked in a bowl of thick blood.

Soon, passing through the all too familiar trenches filled with corpses, the soldiers finally reached the safety zone.

Suddenly, someone asked, “Old soldier, got a smoke?”

“Get lost, I barely managed to get a few packs, not even enough for myself. If you want, go rummage through those corpses’ pockets.”

Bauer cursed with a grim face.

He waved his hand, pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket, holding it like a treasure.

The surrounding soldiers immediately looked over with eager eyes.

“Whoa! Made in Imperial!”

“Old soldier, you’ve got some good stuff hidden away!”

The pack bore the symbol of a vertical pupil and flames, with the faint words “Made in Imperial” printed on it.

Bauer’s rifle stock also had this mark.

The soldiers didn’t know where these things came from, nor did they care about their meaning — they only knew cigarettes with this mark were the best, the strongest.

They knew: if Bauer didn’t want to share the smoke, he wouldn’t bring out this treasured item.

The soldiers swarmed in, grinning, reaching out with rough hands, sweeping away the previous tense atmosphere.

“Get out, one each — for Busa’s sake.”

“I haven’t got one!”

“Wait, me too!”

“Bullshit! What’s that in your other hand? I just saw you take one!”

When everyone finally dispersed, faces full of joy, Bauer looked down at the pack with only one cigarette left, his face showing heartache.

“These bastards.”

He took out that last cigarette, shielding it from the wind with one hand, skillfully lighting it with the other, then putting it in his mouth.

“Hoo—”

“It’s really Imperial made stuff, so strong, much better than those shoddy ones.”

Bauer leaned against the dirt wall, exhaling thick smoke, murmuring softly.

The refreshing sensation rushed to his head, temporarily lifting his thoughts from the battlefield, flying back to his distant hometown.

This content is taken from fгeewebnovёl.com.

He thought of Strong Town, a small town in the eastern Thrace Region, but so peaceful, so beautiful.