Chapter 58: Zhuan Zhu's Assassination of King Liao

Once the notion of "assassination" took root in his mind, it could no longer be suppressed.

What Chen Lai had seen and heard along the way had given him a profound understanding of this world's worldview, and the people and events he encountered had earned his heartfelt identification.

Rosa was a beautiful nation of frozen soil, dotted with cities and villages where people multiplied and inhabited the land, gradually forging a new federal identity.

Some would betray their motherland for profit, like Vlasov.

Others would lay down their lives for their motherland, like Ivan, Menkov, and Pskov.

Even Comrade Stolt, the supreme leader of Rosa whom he had only heard of and never met along the way, was a man who sacrificed his personal family for the sake of the country.

His son Skofur had been captured during the "Great Kiev Encirclement." Vlasov recognized him and handed him over to the Prosonians, who hoped to exchange him for a captured Prosonian general.

When the terms were relayed back to Moskow, Comrade Stolt, puffing on his pipe, merely replied unhurriedly:

"I will not trade a general for a private."

After that, neither country brought up the matter again. It was said that a few streaks of white hair appeared at Comrade Stolt's temples, and Skofur's whereabouts remained unknown.

Such a country could never be the "tottering shack" described by the Prosonian Emperor. Even if they deployed more tanks and bombed with more airplanes, the ultimate response they would receive was bound to be a much more forceful counterattack!

Yet, under the current circumstances, the Prosonians indeed held the upper hand. Their forces were stronger, their tactics more advanced, and even their command was in the hands of a half-breed like Manstein, whose calculations were infallible!

Then, what could he do to help Rosa? With less than a month of life left?

In Chen Lai's eyes, golden pupils blazed fiercely. He looked toward the direction of the Yancheklak Bridge, where Manstein's headquarters was located, nestled deep within the layered protection of armored vehicles, motorized units, and vast arrays of artillery and infantry.

The Prosonians fancied themselves superior and civilized; it was time to let them experience the power of the wild.

"General Pskov, do you fear death?"

Chen Lai's golden gaze shifted to Pskov beside him, who was massaging his leg. The affliction of the "Corpse Sunflower" upon him was growing increasingly severe.

"What kind of nonsense is that?" Pskov replied casually. "Ever since the day I graduated from the military academy, I've been waiting for the day the Heavenly Father calls me."

Very well, a heavily religious answer. He truly was an old-school loyalist.

"General, Manstein's Spiritual Word is 'Infallible Calculation.' Does the Supreme General Staff know about this?"

"Who?" Pskov thought he had misheard.

"Manstein, the Marshal of the Prosonian Skull Division," Chen Lai confirmed.

Pskov's expression changed drastically. His hand immediately reached for his ice axe and revolver. "Then we cannot let him live. Even if we have to throw all of our lives into it, this scourge must die!"

"If we die here, at most a hundred lives are lost; if we let him live, Rosa will suffer at least two million more casualties among its able-bodied men, and Stoltgrad will most likely fall."

With that, he suddenly turned to Menkov, who was leaning against the side of a tank tinkering with spare parts. "Menkov, go and round up those Cossacks... It's time to work!"

"Yes!" Menkov sprang to his feet, saluted Pskov crisply, and then trotted toward the troop transport vehicle behind them.

"Menkov, has something happened ahead? Why have we stopped?"

Ulia comforted Ivan, asking Menkov with a hint of worry.

A smile bloomed on Menkov's face. He said nothing, only gently patted Ivan's arm. The Cossack snapped to attention instantly, mustered his remaining strength to stand, untied the hemp rope binding his comrades, and was the first to climb down from the vehicle.

This Cossack, whose "dead-servant transformation" was already quite advanced, remained silent. He didn't even thank Ulia, simply leading his fellow battle-brothers to assemble near Pskov. He knew very well that Menkov only ever had one purpose in seeking him out: "marching toward death."

The young man did not fear death. From the very first day he became a Cossack, he had known this would be his ultimate fate.

Yet how he died, in what manner, and in what place—that was something he could choose.

To die for the motherland of Rosa was a reason he could not refuse. As long as it was on Rosa's soil, dying for compatriots who sang "Katyusha," he had no complaints or regrets.

After they left, Ulia stood in a daze, feeling as though something immensely important was about to slip away from her.

Menkov still wore an enthusiastic smile as he looked at Ulia. "Don't worry, girl of Kashgar, we'll be going home soon."

With that, he pulled up the tailgate of the transport truck and strode on his own toward Pskov's group.

By now, the sun was sinking, casting its remaining rays into the transport truck where the villagers sat, while leaving the Rosa soldiers in shadow. Clad in goose-yellow uniforms, the red stars on their shoulders still gleamed brightly in the encroaching darkness.

Pskov, standing by the tank, stretched out a hand and beckoned to Menkov. The smiling partisan immediately quickened his pace, plunging into the shadows.

Korchagin had originally been inside the transport truck, soothing the villagers' emotions and tending to some of the younger children. Sensing the commotion outside, he too jumped down from the vehicle.

When he saw Chen Lai, Pskov, and Ivan standing together, writing and sketching something on the ground, his heart skipped a beat.

"What is it, comrades? Didn't we agree to disguise ourselves, slip across the bridge, and have a drink together in Donetsk? What is going on now..."

He forced a smile, having already guessed the truth, yet unwilling to spell it out.

"Pavel." Pskov dropped the branch he was holding and patted Korchagin's shoulder with a dust-covered hand. "I entrust the mission of leading the villagers across the river to you. The moment the bridgehead plunges into chaos, step on the gas and charge through. Someone will meet you on the other side—I've arranged it long ago!"

"I'm going too." Korchagin tried to step into the ranks of the soldiers, but Chen Lai pushed him back.

"Pavel, what do the golden eyes signify?" Chen Lai looked at him, the golden light in his eyes burning unabated. At this point, he could no longer suppress it.

When the concentration of dragon blood grew too high, the golden eyes could no longer be freely closed. This was known as the "Ever-Burning Golden Eyes."

"In the Tsarist era, golden eyes represented nobility; in the Federal era, golden eyes are anomalies." Korchagin didn't understand why he was asking this, but as a political commissar, he was practically a walking encyclopedia.

Chen Lai reached out his hand and clasped it firmly with Korchagin's.

"Pavel, the golden eyes carry the Sorrow of Blood. We are born with a profound sense of isolation, feeling that we are neither dragon nor human."

"Yet when I am with you all, I have never felt such isolation. How could one feel lonely when everyone is marching toward the same goal? Comrade."

Chen Lai shook his hand. Korchagin looked into those golden pupils, only to find that the oppressive majesty of a "higher-tier creature" had completely vanished.

"The meaning of the fallen shall be written by the living. Korchagin, live on in our stead!"

Chen Lai spoke sternly. At that exact moment, the sun finally withdrew its merciful rays. In the distance, black eagles shrieked, and the signals of radio broadcasts surged.

Night had fallen.