The brutal battle raged for thirteen hours.

The two armies fought from dawn until noon, the battle raging without a moment’s pause. The Government Army’s ferocity far exceeded the Salvation Army’s expectations.

The Salvation Army had initially expected a routine engagement, but the Government Army fought like madmen, relentlessly pouring in troops and pressing their advantage. The moment the Salvation Army showed the slightest sign of retreat, the Government Army would launch a ferocious assault, forcing them to stand their ground. To pull back now would mean catastrophic losses.

The Salvation Army’s reinforcements were quick to join the fray upon arrival, but the Government Army also had a steady stream of new corps arriving. After thirteen hours, the two sides had committed a total of over forty thousand soldiers to this desolate wasteland. As the fighting grew more desperate, the area had become a veritable meat grinder. The soil was soaked with blood, and bodies littered the landscape.

After Zhou Chen "recovered," he returned to the battlefield several times. Though he performed one incredible feat after another, it still wasn’t enough to make a significant impact on the Government Army. No matter how many of their soldiers fell, the Government Army quickly filled the gaps and re-established their lines.

Amid the roar of artillery fire, Zhou Chen returned to the rest area behind the lines. He sank to the ground, a weary look on his face.

In reality, his Spiritual Power was barely depleted, and his Essence had never been overdrawn. He was in peak physical condition, yet he felt an immense fatigue—a deep, soul-crushing weariness, a sense of being lost and tired of this seemingly endless war.

Yet the soldiers around him never showed such an attitude. They were all hyped up, as if on adrenaline. Not one of them looked lost or afraid. Most had been off the front lines for less than five minutes before they were clamoring to go back in. They only agreed to rest after being barked at by a superior officer.

"Aren’t you afraid?" Zhou Chen asked a young soldier next to him with a bandage wrapped around his forehead. He was covered in dirt, his once-white bandage stained with dust and dried blood. His face was filthy, yet his eyes shone with an exceptional brightness.

"Afraid? Of course. Who isn’t afraid to die? But the thought of teaching those damned elites a lesson... that gets rid of the fear. Kill one, I break even. Kill two, I make a profit. Kill three, and it’s a jackpot."

The young soldier grinned. "I’ve already killed five, so I’m well past breaking even. But I’m going to kill more. My parents worked in a factory owned by one of the elites. Sixteen hours a day for a pittance. They were literally worked to death, and we never saw a cent in compensation. You know what the factory owner said?

—’A worker dying from exhaustion has nothing to do with us. It’s their own fault for not knowing how to balance work and rest.’

Damn it, how could he even say something like that? And the most fucked up part is, those fucking idiots at the police station actually agreed with him!

Luckily, I got my revenge later. I killed him and that whole crew of crooked cops. Otherwise, it would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life. I’d never be able to die in peace.

The elites have oppressed us our entire lives. Now we finally have a chance to fight back. Even if I die, I’m taking a few more of them with me."

"What about you?" Zhou Chen looked at the soldier next to this one.

"I’m scared too. Who isn’t afraid to die?"

The soldier rubbed his aching calves and chuckled. "But our Teacher Lin had a saying that stuck with me—some things are more important than life itself.

My sister and I secretly joined the Salvation Army two years ago. I became a soldier, and she joined logistics. We worked and studied on the side. She’s really smart. Now she’s a teacher herself, teaching others how to read. Some lucky punk managed to win her over. They have a kid now, a one-year-old. The little tyke has the cutest smile.

I’m not much of anything special, just her big brother. Killing the enemy is the only thing I can do for them. Every one I kill makes them a little safer. I don’t have any big Dreams. I just want my family to live a good life. If that vile government wants to drag them back into that pit of suffering, they’ll have to do it over my dead body."

Hearing their stories, Zhou Chen nodded slightly. He was beginning to understand what separated him from these soldiers.

’They’re fighting for their ideals, for revenge, for their families. They have a steadfast purpose. That’s why they can face death without fear—they know exactly what they’re willing to die for.

Faced with a brutal, seemingly endless war, they don’t feel Fear or exhaustion. All they can think about is killing more of the enemy.

A powerful army is inseparable from the support of Spiritual Power. With every soldier possessing such an unyielding will, the Salvation Army was truly a formidable force.’

And that was what made Zhou Chen all the more curious: How was the Government Army managing to hold back the Salvation Army’s assault?

’Ascenders? The Salvation Army had them too—even more of them.

Weapons of war? With the aid of the Americans, the Salvation Army had a massive arsenal. Add to that the numerous technologies left behind by Havier, and they were by no means weaker than the Government Army. In fact, they might even have a slight edge.

Mercenary Corps? Both sides had hired several top-tier international corps, and their skills were more or less evenly matched.

The army itself? In terms of troop quality, the Salvation Army was leagues ahead of the Government Army.’

By all accounts, the Salvation Army should have overwhelmed the Government Army in every respect. Yet here on the battlefield, the two forces were deadlocked.

Soon, Zhou Chen would find out why.

News arrived. The Government Army was frantically conscripting soldiers in every major city, sending everyone to the front lines, whether they were from the lower class or the elites. With execution squads behind them, these cannon-fodder recruits, most of whom had barely any formal training, had no choice but to throw themselves at the Salvation Army. The result was predictable: the mortality rate was as high as eighty percent. Almost no new recruit survived more than two battles.