When the Lanforthian military police began their encirclement of the “Diacla spies,” the 136th Infantry Brigade launched a swift assault.
They overwhelmed the Lanforthian soldiers guarding the position, pushing the battle line all the way to the bridge.
By the time the Lanforthian command reacted, the bridgehead on the left bank had already been lost.
Just as the Lanforthian command issued the order to turn back, their forces had already stormed across the bridge.
They were now deploying on the right bank, initiating a bayonet charge.
Upon seeing the Diacla national flag hoisted atop the bridge, Commander Mo immediately ordered the retreating troops to launch a full-scale counterattack.
The Diacla army’s retreat, which had been underway, came to an abrupt halt within minutes.
It swiftly transformed into a counter-charge against the pursuing Lanforthian forces.
Caught in a pincer movement, the Lanforthian troops who had crossed the Mang River plunged into utter chaos, on the verge of complete annihilation.
This sudden turn of events was entirely unforeseen by the acting commander.
It completely overwhelmed his capacity to process the situation.
He could only mutter, “This is impossible, this is impossible,” repeatedly, while vigorously shaking the unconscious Major Lawrence on his sickbed.
He desperately hoped this brilliant commander would awaken to salvage the impending defeat.
The problem, however, was that they still had no idea what had caused Major Lawrence’s unconsciousness.
How, then, could merely shaking his body possibly rouse him?
The one-sided battle pressed heavily on the acting commander’s nerves.
His predicament mirrored that of the incompetent officials in the Diacla Army’s General Staff when they learned the front lines had been breached.
Unlike them, he lacked their composure, and he possessed no reserves to rectify his blunders.
The military police, usually so arrogant and domineering, had long since been deployed along the riverbanks to hunt for spies, and could not be recalled quickly.
Even if they were recalled, they numbered only two hundred, utterly insufficient to withstand the onslaught of three thousand.
This battle’s outcome was sealed the moment they failed to detect the 136th Infantry Brigade lying in ambush nearby.
Had their reconnaissance been more thorough, had they not committed their entire force to the pursuit, events might not have spiraled to such a dire state.
Alas, there were no ‘ifs.’
A mistake was a mistake, and defeat was defeat; utter annihilation might have many excuses, but no amount of justification could turn the tide.
Victory had changed hands several times, ultimately settling with Diacla.
The Lanforthians could only calmly accept their fate of defeat.
Half of their men remained trapped within the encirclement.
Of the remaining half, another half fell during their desperate attempt to break through.
Fewer than a quarter of the total forces that had initially assaulted the right bank managed to successfully breach the encirclement, force their way across the Mang River, and escape back to their original positions on the left bank.
This offensive was now unequivocally a failure, with no chance of a reversal.
This would only change if the Lanforthian army could once again deploy forces equal in scale to their previous assault.
Such a feat was almost impossible, as their military resources were equally stretched thin.
Unlike Diacla, Lanforth did not boast a massive population base.
Even with extensive overseas colonies, only two or three regions could realistically serve as recruitment sources.
Combining these with their mainland population, their total barely reached half that of Diacla.
Moreover, Lanforth had to disperse its troops across half the world, remaining vigilant against the global hegemon, the “Rollman Empire.”
Deploying this additional elite standing army had already pushed the Lanforth Republic to its limits.
Even then, a portion of these troops were Auliang, merely making up the numbers.
Now, with their entire force defeated in this “Battle of Mang River,” they had not only suffered heavy casualties but also lost control of the bridge to the enemy.
The criticism awaiting the acting commander was, by now, entirely predictable.
To escalate their commitment further, the current forces on the battlefield beyond the mountains would be woefully insufficient.
It would necessitate reassigning troops from other regions.
This, however, raised a critical question: how much genuine profit could be derived from controlling such a small territory and its resources beyond the mountains?
And could these profits truly offset the costs incurred over five years of war?
It was widely known that Lanforthians were shrewd merchants, famously valuing gold coins more than their own lives, to the point of seeming foolish.
Wherever profit beckoned, the Lanforthians would intervene without a moment’s hesitation.
But what if this “profit,” as time passed and the war’s tide turned, gradually plummeted into negative territory?
Could they still cling to the notion of enriching themselves while others suffered immense losses, continuing this protracted, bloody conflict?
At the Mang River, they had shed too much blood.
Beyond the mountains, they had shed too much blood.
Throughout the centuries of the Lanforth Republic’s armies campaigning across the world with their merchant ships, they had shed far too much blood.
One day, that blood would remember for whom it truly ought to flow.
From a macro perspective, the days of peace negotiations drew near.
Yet, from an individual standpoint, this bloody conflict was far from its end.
The clean-up crews on the right bank discovered a peculiar trench.
Numerous Lanforthian soldiers lay scattered within it, their steel helmets inscribed with strange markings.
Even more perplexing, they could not find a single Diacla soldier’s body inside.
After a thorough search and identification process, they eventually located two wounded and unconscious soldiers of their own, bearing Diacla features but clad in enemy uniforms.
They were swiftly transported by car to the rear for medical treatment.
****
Time flowed onward, day turning to night, and night yielding to day.
Several days later, Lin Yu groggily opened her eyes to find a weary Nangong by her bedside.
“Oh… where am I…?” she murmured.
She attempted to lift her left hand, only to find it unresponsive, as if several lead weights were dragging it down.
Nangong gently stopped her, saying, “Don’t move your left hand. The nerves were only reconnected recently; you need to rest for a while.”
“Ner… nerves?” Lin Yu stammered.
“Lin Yu, you caused quite a stir with your little escapade, sustaining such severe injuries that you nearly died of infection in this very bed,” Nangong said, taking Lin Yu’s right hand and gently stroking her delicate palm.
“Do you know you had a high fever for ages before you woke up? Several doses of anti-infection medicine barely made a difference.”
“Ah… is that so…? How many days have I been out…?”
“A full three days,” Nangong replied, lightly caressing her forehead and wiping away a thin film of perspiration.
“Right, Yang Xi, he—”
“We haven’t even finished discussing your condition,” Nangong interjected. “Let me tell you first…”
Lin Yu, however, showed no interest in Nangong’s topic; her sole concern was Yang Xi’s current well-being.
“How is he? Is he alright?”
Nangong paused, deliberating for a moment before speaking.
“He’s fine. He didn’t get a fever like you did. The other doctors are calling his recovery nothing short of a miracle.”
“How so?”
“His injuries were even more severe than yours. He suffered both external and internal bleeding, losing nearly half the blood in his body. He was riddled with shrapnel, and his pleura had been punctured, though the repair work was quite crude.”
“I performed the emergency treatment, you know,” Lin Yu said, a proud smile spreading across her lips.
“I patched him up from a bloody mess to how he looked when he arrived at the hospital. I saved his life, didn’t I?”
“Yes, he woke up two days before you, only stayed in bed for one day, and then returned to report to his original unit,” Nangong continued, detailing Yang Xi’s condition.
“His healing ability is simply inhuman.”
“Hm?”
‘Nangong seemed to have said something peculiar.’
“In any case, you survived, and so did he. We’ve also largely won this Battle of Mang River.”
“That’s… that’s wonderful,” Lin Yu softly said.
She gazed out the window at the setting sun, reflecting on her good fortune and how truly wonderful it was to be alive.
‘The desire to die and the cheerful thought of “Hehe, I want to live!” were not conflicting emotions.’
‘Besides, so many people in the world wanted her to live, didn’t they?’
‘Dying irresponsibly in a trench like that would only cause others pain.’
‘Just like Yang Xi made her sad, that… that… that was completely different!’
Perhaps it was the glow of the setting sun, but a faint blush crept onto the young woman’s face.