Although Augustus remained silent, he listened attentively to the conversation on the squad leader's communication channel.

  Since entering the recruit training camp, he had gradually learned bits and pieces about the resocialized soldiers. Among all the units in the 33rd Ground Assault Division, the Fourth Brigade had the lowest percentage of them—hence why many of its officers weren’t particurly familiar with the subject.

  In contrast, other units—like the First and Second Brigades—had resocialized troops making up as much as one-fifth of their total personnel. Some were organized into separate units. Others were scattered, integrated into squads and ptoons across the entire force.

  To win this war, the Federation had already begun deploying brainwashed soldiers onto the battlefield at this stage. It was actively preparing to repce all ordinary soldiers with independent thought with these resocialized soldiers.

  These resocialized soldiers were fearless and brave, knowing nothing of fear. Their will to fight and combat skills were engraved into their bodies like instinct. With just a single surgical procedure, an ordinary person could be transformed into a killing machine for the Federation.

  However, these resocialized soldiers also had a critical fw: the transformation process inflicted damage to their brains.

  Stripped of their individual personalities, they also lost the ability to think and judge independently. They could only act upon direct orders issued by officers who had not undergone resocialization.

  Overall, aside from this fw, resocialized soldiers were near-perfect warriors. They could carry out their commander’s every order to the maximum extent, never made mistakes, never felt fear, and never retreated.

  Augustus also knew that after the Kel-Morian War ended, the proportion of resocialized soldiers would continue to rise. By the time humanity entered its first full-scale war against an alien species, the majority of the Federation’s troops would have undergone this transformation.

  At 1 a.m., Warfield’s company set out on schedule, advancing through the silent darkness toward the eastern district of Polk’s Pride. Accompanying them were four other companies and two battalions of resocialized soldiers.

  On Augustus’s HUD dispy, the district was beled as the Dunlin District. Before it fell, Dunlin had housed Turaxis II’s rgest maglev vehicle and IAA holographic projector assembly pnts—industries once owned by the Terra family, one of the founding dynasties of Tarsonis.

  According to the attack pn, Warfield’s First Company would be among the first to push into the city from the center, while two other units would unch offensives from the left and right fnks. Before setting out, the marines followed orders to switch off their chest-mounted floodlights and changed their visor dispys to night vision and thermal imaging modes.

  As they drew near Polk’s Pride—just 3 kilometers from the outermost buildings—two Arclite tanks and a full twelve-unit squad of Goliath war machines joined Warfield’s forces. One Arclite tank took position just ahead of Augustus’s squad, while two towering Goliaths stomped forward heavily on the right fnk.

  Turaxis II had two moons, which meant its nights weren’t usually too dark when the skies were clear. But tonight, heavy clouds bnketed Polk’s Pride. With all lights extinguished, the entire Federation force advanced under a bnket of pitch-bck darkness, unable to see even an outstretched hand.

  At 4 a.m., just as Augustus was able to spot the Dunlin District’s iconic structure—the Goddess Lighthouse—with his naked eyes rather than his helmet’s focus camera, the Kel-Morian garrison within the city finally unched their first fre.

  Since the Kel-Morian orbital stations and satellites had all been destroyed by the Federation fleet, the defenders, though aware that a rge enemy force was approaching from the rear, had no way of knowing the exact timing of the assault.

  Still, it was clear the Kel-Morian troops had stayed up all night. As dozens of fres lit up the sky, a barrage of mortar and railgun fire rained down on the first resocialized ptoon that had charged ahead.

  ...

  Thousands of feet above Polk’s Pride, a brutal dogfight was unfolding between the Kel-Morian Hellhound squadrons and the Terran Federation’s Avenger fighters. In the central city, anti-air towers and fk cannons roared thunderously. The city was abze—fmes shot skyward, lighting up the night.

  Augustus and the warriors of his squad sprinted behind an AVV Arclite tank, firing as they ran, all while silently praying that the Kel-Morian guild-grade mortar shells—those electromagnetic projectiles—wouldn’t come crashing down on them or their comrades.

  According to the offensive pn, ten battalions from the 2nd and 4th Brigades would attack in three prongs from the eastern side of Polk’s Pride. Augustus’s unit—the 5th Battalion—was assigned to the center path, tasked with punching straight through into the heart of the enemy-held city.

  Each squad was spaced far apart, scattered across a battlefront some 700 to 800 meters wide. Ahead of them was a company of Re-socialized troops charging at full speed, followed by three more companies from the Re-socialized battalion. Only then came the rest of the 5th Battalion.

  Under the flickering light of rising fres, Augustus was drawing ever closer to the enemy's frontline fortifications—trenches and bunkers fortified with sandbags, steel pting, electrified wire, and concrete pillboxes at the city’s entrance. And this, clearly, was only their first line of defense.

  He stepped over the bodies of fallen Re-socialized soldiers, one after another, until he could clearly see the muzzle fshes of the enemy’s electromagnetic weapons lighting up their positions.

  Roughly a thousand meters ahead of Augustus was a Kel-Morian hemispherical bunker, now ruined by a direct hit from an Arclite tank shell. The trench, once reinforced with sandbags and scrap metal, had been bsted apart.

  Yet even then, the Kel-Morian soldiers held their ground, fighting back with a wild variety of weapons—crude in form but deadly in function. They’d hauled ser drills from the mines, jury-rigged them into weapons, and brought every dangerous contraption they could scavenge from the pits and guild halls to the front lines.

  Augustus had to admit: these Kel-Morian fighters, raised in the ruthless competition of guild life, had far greater fighting spirit than many of the Federation’s drafted soldiers. They were born warriors, fiercely loyal to their guilds and families, willing to give their lives for honor.

  The Arclite tank pushed forward, turret rotating as it unleashed shell after shell on the enemy lines. Beside Augustus, a Goliath combat mech opened fire. These twelve-foot-tall, bipedal steel giants moved like mechanical titans, their titanium armor ptes catching the floodlights and gleaming cold and gray.

  Twin 30mm autocannons mounted on either arm of the Goliath spun and fired thousands of rounds in a matter of seconds until the barrels glowed red-hot.

  Then, the missile pods mounted on the mech’s shoulders rotated open and unched a barrage of ground-attack missiles, bsting gaping holes in the Kel-Morian defenses.

  Augustus and his squad kept close behind the tank, bullets whizzing overhead like angry hornets. Even though Warfield’s 1st Company had initiated the attack, under the company commander’s orders, they maintained a synchronized advance with the tanks.

  Several minutes had passed since the charge began. One shell had struck the tank’s armor but was deflected on impact. Another exploded beside Augustus but miraculously left him unscathed.

  Augustus remained composed and restrained, steadily moving forward, firing controlled bursts toward the fshes of enemy gunfire.

  The 1st Squad was scattered nearby, each man spaced roughly 20 yards apart. Closest to Augustus were Ryk, the sniper from Fire Team One, and Benjamin, lugging his Whisperer heavy machine gun.

  As the advance of the 1st Company slowed, the Re-socialized soldiers continued their relentless charge, one by one overtaking the steadily moving line of regur troops. Their powered armor and faceptes bore no sign of the 33rd Ground Assault Division’s wolf-head insignia, making it easy for Augustus to distinguish them from the standard infantry.

  Without a doubt, once the commander gave the order to attack, these re-socialized soldiers would charge forward with unwavering resolve—even if they knew they were running straight into hell.

  Squad after squad of re-socialized soldiers fell before the Kel-Morian artillery and gunfire ahead of Augustus, yet more continued to surge forward without pause. They charged like machines running on pre-programmed routines, as if they were born knowing only one thing: advance.

  After leaving behind more than a hundred corpses, the re-socialized soldiers finally reached the Kel-Morian fortifications at the entrance to the city. But even then, they didn’t stop. Maintaining the same relentless pace, they pushed onward, soon vanishing into the distance beyond Augustus’s field of vision.

  The Kel-Morian artillery position finally went silent—evidently, they were retreating. At that moment, Warfield’s First Company was still nearly two hundred meters from the enemy lines.

  "Keep moving. Maintain spacing, and stay close to the Arclite tanks," Warfield ordered over the command channel.

  Charging at the front with his aide, Warfield—cd in silver-gray powered armor—was the first to step onto the enemy position. Behind him came the First and Fourth Squads.

  Moments ter, the Arclite tank in front of Augustus accelerated and smashed through the makeshift sandbag fortifications set up by the Kel-Morians, crushing the blood-soaked corpses under its treads as it rumbled down the cratered highway into the city proper.

  But the war was far from over. Augustus realized that the fighting within the city itself would likely be the bloodiest phase yet.

  Given the Kel-Morian soldiers’ will to fight, they would probably have to engage in brutal street-by-street combat—battling for control over every road, every building, every house.

  Fortunately, compared to the vast size of the city, the Kel-Morian garrison only numbered around twenty to thirty thousand troops. Most of them had previously been stationed along the north bank of the Paddick River, the boundary line in the city center.

  By the time Augustus followed the tanks into the high-rise-filled cityscape, daylight had already broken—but the sky was still choked with heavy clouds.

  From time to time, Hellhounds or Avenger fighters became streaks of fme as they crashed from the sky. A few damaged aircraft, their wings trailing bck smoke, plummeted like bdes from the heavens, stabbing into skyscrapers or erupting into fireballs on impact.

  To Augustus and his men, the entire city appeared shrouded in gray. Burned-out Kel-Morian vehicles lined the streets, and every house had its doors and windows shut tight. The shopfronts in the lower levels of the commercial district had all been shattered. Merchandise and furniture were reduced to ash by the fmes of war, and the walls were scorched bck.

  Every street was dim with gloom from the weather, and the rain had started—light, steady, and unceasing.

  Gunfire echoed intermittently from other blocks and buildings, and in the midst of this long-abandoned city, a single IAA holographic advertising bot—powered by sor energy—still roamed.

  This small robot, barely two feet tall and encased in a pstic shell, rolled up to Augustus on two rusted wheels. The hologram on its forehead cycled monotonously between ads for maglev bikes and the city’s famous statue of the goddess.

  "Sir, welcome to the beautiful Polk’s Pride. Just a moment of your time, please allow me to introduce the Terra Model 55 commercial maglev bike—"

  Before the IAA bot could finish its sentence, Benjamin, the heavy machine gunner beside Augustus, kicked it away like a football. None of them could be sure whether the notoriously cunning Kel-Morians had hidden a timed explosive inside its tiny frame.

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