The bullet screamed toward the Jap lieutenant. In those two seconds, he shifted position—the shot missed.

　　"San-shao! Off target!" Zhang Facai yelled.

　　Dong San-shao blinked, rising to look when an icy gust hit his neck. He ducked instinctively—

　　CRACK!

　　A round tore through the skull of the soldier beside him. Zhang Facai screeched, cowering below the crenellations.

　　San-shao’s head spun—until logic prevailed. No sniper would waste rounds on a rookie. He rose slowly, scanning enemy ranks with hunter’s eyes, untouched by stray bullets or comrades’ screams.

　　His sights locked on a Jap captain.

　　BOOM!

　　Three seconds of flight—direct brain impact.

　　San-shao cycled the bolt mechanically. No wind calculations, no distance estimates—pure instinct.

　　

　　Below, Hota Shigeichi roared: "Artillery! Shatter that wall!"

　　A dozen shells tore open the northeast rampart.

　　Zhou Ziyu’s command ripped the air: "Plug the gap! NOW!"

　　An entire battalion surged forward. Two ZB-26 machine guns unleashed a deadly crossfire net. The charging Taiwanese conscripts fell like scythed wheat.

　　Furious, Hota ordered: "Level them!" Simultaneously, Jap bombers shrieked over Pengze. Bombs and strafing runs shredded the 53rd Division. Hundreds fell.

　　

　　Dong Yaoting crawled toward San-shao. "Take cover! Bombers have belly guns!"

　　A Zero dove low. San-shao snapped his rifle up—aiming at the rising sun insignia. Miss.

　　"Barrel can’t reach 1,000 meters," Dong Yaoting warned.

　　San-shao lowered his rifle. Methodically, he began picking off Jap grunts.

　　Crack… Crack… Crack…

　　Beside him, Zhang Facai counted: "One… two… twenty! Twenty Japs!"

　　Zhang Facai’s shock morphed into awe—he’d served a year without rifle-killing a single Jap, though grenades had claimed a few.

　　Dong Yaoting bellowed: "Zhang Facai! Get San-shao ammo!"

　　"Find fucking what?" Zhang Facai yelled back. "HQ issued me twenty rounds—he burned ‘em all!"

　　Dong Yaoting spotted Major Zhou Ziyu directing fire on the right flank. He crouch-ran toward him. "Major! We need bullets!"

　　Zhou didn’t turn. "You shoot?"

　　"My brother does! Dead-eye sniper!"

　　Zhou finally glanced at him. "Prove it—and he’ll eat lead for breakfast!" Dong Yaoting sprinted back, dragging San-shao to Zhou’s position.

　　Zhou shoved aside a prone soldier. "Slot here. Pick off Japs one by one—let’s see your magic."

　　San-shao chambered a round. No scope—just snap-aimed fire. CRACK! A Jap crumpled, forehead pierced.

　　"Too quick," Zhou muttered. "Kill that lieutenant!"

　　San-shao took three seconds—bullseye between the eyes.

　　Zhou’s binoculars trembled. Christ—a rookie sharpshooter? "Name?"

　　"Dong San-shao, sir!" Dong Yaoting answered.

　　"Listen close!" Zhou roared. "From now on—you waste Jap officers! Rewards:

　　Lieutenant: One silver dollar!

　　Captain: Two!

　　Major: Three!

　　Higher rank—fatter payoff!"

　　San-shao’s eyes ignited. Enough to buy land… free my parents from Dong Manor’s servitude… even marry…

　　"Swear to God?" He locked onto Zhou. "No fucking lies?"

　　"Why con you?" Zhou snarled. "That captain you nailed? Payment pending! Now—hunt me a major!"

　　He pointed. "See that Jap major? Blow his goddamn brains out!"

　　BANG! The major dropped.

　　"Sweet Jesus!" Zhou howled. "Kill that lieutenant colonel next!"

　　BANG! Another officer crumpled.

　　Major General Hota Shigeichi received an urgent report: A sniper lurked among the Chinese defenders in the northeast sector. So far, the Empire had suffered the loss of two lieutenants, one captain, one major, and one lieutenant colonel. If this continued, the 1st Regiment would be left without officers to command.

　　Hota Shigeichi had been observing the southwest front through his binoculars, where Xue Weiying's 167th Division was enduring bombardment from Japanese heavy artillery. After hearing the report, he shifted his binoculars to the northeast. After watching for a moment, he ordered:

　　"Concentrate all artillery fire on the northeast city wall! Shift the main attack direction to the southwest—break through from there!"

　　Hota was no ordinary commander. This tactical adjustment was ruthless: while artillery pounded the northeast, the bulk of the 1st Regiment would secretly advance southwest under cover of the bombardment. This would certainly overwhelm Xue's already battered division. After taking Pengze from the southwest, they would then seize the northeast.

　　Immediately after this strategic shift, he commanded the 13th Field Gas Company (minus one platoon):

　　"Move forward under artillery cover and prepare to release gas!" Then, slamming the list of officers killed by the sniper, he roared: "Bakayaro! Regardless of whether the Chinese have snipers, gas them to death!"

　　

　　During the Japanese artillery barrage, Zhou Ziyu protected Dong San-shao like a precious treasure. He ordered five soldiers to surround San-shao: whenever shells exploded, these men covered San-shao with their bodies, shielding him from shrapnel with their flesh.

　　When the shelling ceased, a soldier handed San-shao a loaded rifle. Zhou Ziyu yelled: "Zhang Chuzhong! Where the fuck are you?"

　　"Reporting, Commander! Here!" a voice responded from beneath the battlements. This was Zhou's communications officer.

　　Zhou bellowed: "Go to Division HQ to fetch the Special Gun! Tell the Division Commander: We have a god-tier sniper who needs it!"

　　Zhang Chuzhong understood and immediately sprinted toward the headquarters.

　　Zhou patted Dong San-shao's shoulder. "I'll reward you with a proper rifle. Want it?"

　　San-shao hesitated. "What kind of rifle?"

　　"A dedicated sniper rifle!"

　　Beside them, Dong Yaoting interjected excitedly: "Sir, my brother has never even seen such a rifle! This Hanyang is only the second rifle he's ever handled!"

　　Zhou Ziyu stared in disbelief. After a long pause, he asked: "San-shao, have you ever fired a gun before?"

　　Shaking his head, San-shao answered: "During recruit training, we held rifles but never fired live rounds. That lasted barely half a month."

　　Suddenly, Zhou screamed: "Everyone, cover your mouths! NOW!"

　　Reacting instantly, Dong Yaoting clamped his own mouth shut while simultaneously covering San-shao’s mouth with his hand.

　　Zhang Facai—a veteran of Songhu—immediately understood. San-shao struggled to free his mouth from Dong Yaoting's grip for air, but Dong Yaoting frantically shook his head in terror. Zhou Ziyu tapped San-shao’s shoulder and pointed.

　　Pale yellow smoke drifted toward them.

　　Some unaware soldiers uncovered their mouths and inhaled—then began clawing their throats, legs convulsing wildly, white foam bubbling from their mouths, eyes bulging horribly.

　　Terror seized Dong San-shao. Master Zhang and Hanzhi! They’d never recognize this as poison gas!

　　His heart pounded. Before Dong Yaoting could stop him, San-shao sprang up, hand clamped over his mouth, and sprinted into the city.

　　Dong Yaoting instantly understood. He too stood and ran, followed by Zhang Facai. All three raced toward the shack where Old Zhang and Hanzhi were sheltering.

　　Zhou Ziyu raised his pistol to fire after them... but slowly lowered it. He watched their fleeing figures fade into the haze.