My soldiers are all Fourth Calamities!

41. I probably won't forget you for the rest of my life, Rochester.

Just as the left-wing "Vistula Army" was falling into despair...

"Boom! Thud! Thud! Thud!"

A series of explosions rang out.

"Enemy artillery attack! Enemy artillery attack!"

Although bullets cannot cause fatal damage to players, when artillery fire hits a soldier's feet precisely, the player is instantly sent flying.

The problem is that this amount of artillery fire is practically useless against an army of less than 20,000 men!

And the strangest thing is that they had just killed that demonic soldier with a machine gun a few minutes ago, and now they seem to have reappeared on the battlefield.

Could they be resurrected?

Could it be that they have mastered the magical technology of death?

......

The defensive lines constructed of trenches were being breached one by one, and Rochester was leading the Righteous Army soldiers, advancing rapidly through the trenches.

Thanks to the minimap system, their progress went very smoothly.

For this "Righteous Army," which doesn't have much combat experience, Rochester's assistance meant that their overall combat effectiveness wasn't too bad, given their clear understanding of the enemy's movements.

Besides the ordinary soldiers, what surprised Rochester was that among these ordinary "Vistula" soldiers, there were people wearing different clothes, as well as a few scattered knights.

The minimap clearly shows the enemy's situation: two basic magic troops and two knights.

Did this type of military unit begin to incorporate these elite units into its structure?

Rochester felt something was off.

Logically speaking, the special forces we encountered before were all concentrated together, so why are they scattered among the troops here?

Rochester didn't understand, but it didn't seem to make a significant difference.

My thoughts returned to the trenches.

Rochester stopped at a fork in the trench.

He raised his hand, and the soldiers behind him immediately stopped and pointed their guns at the ground.

On the small map in front of him, three red dots were moving along the end of the passage on the right. Seven steps, five steps, three steps—towards the corner.

"The right side," Rochester said softly, drawing a line in the air with his index finger.

The two veterans took grenades from their waists, pulled the pins, and threw them close to the earthen wall.

The explosion came with a muffled thud on the other side of the corner, and the blast wave kicked up smoke, dust, and rags.

Seeing that the three red dots had become one, Rochester rushed into the passage before the smoke had cleared, quickly advancing his probe and firing a shot at the soldier in Vistula uniform.

Two more veterans followed and plunged their bayonets into the bodies of the other two soldiers.

Suddenly, a unit marked with three "?" was rushing rapidly from the north. Upon seeing this, Rochester quickly ordered the other soldiers to retreat to other trenches.

Anton was about to say something, but Rochester quickly interrupted him, telling him to take the troops to the other side.

Just a dozen seconds after the other soldiers left, a metal-covered hand appeared in his field of vision, its five fingers gripping his throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him against the earthen wall of the trench.

[Threatening Target: Władysław Sikorski]

[Killing him will grant 1000 reputation points]

"Cough cough cough!"

Rochester quickly realized that this was probably a general like Timoshenko, similar to the Astartes.

But in that brief moment of thought, he was lifted up again, slammed to the other side, his back hit the support beam, and Rochester landed, his entrenching tool slipping from his waist.

"You're the general of that demon army? You don't look like much. I heard you even killed a knight single-handedly, but you seem like nothing special."

Rochester did not respond.

He flipped his wrist, held the shovel handle horizontally in front of his chest, pushed off the ground with his heels, and took a half step back.

Using his senses, Rochester quickly determined his opponent's intentions. His opponent threw a punch at him, and Rochester, seemingly still recovering from the impact, could only parry with a horizontal shovel.

The powered armored soldiers gave him no chance to catch his breath.

Step forward, grab the shovel, and twist your wrist.

Rochester dropped the shovel.

The other person kicked him in the chest, sending him flying. His back broke the supporting wood, and he fell into a ditch, mud and water seeping into his collar.

Rochester braced himself on the ground, coughed up a mouthful of bloody saliva, and got up.

The powered armored soldier looked down at the tips of his boots, then at Rochester.

"interesting."

He walked over and lifted his boxing gloves from bottom to top.

Rochester crossed his arms in front of him, forearms colliding with forearms, the dull thud of bones hitting bones echoing through the passageway.

He was thrown off the ground, his feet leaving the ground, and he slammed into the wooden support above his head, scattering dirt everywhere.

The powered armored soldier tilted his head. He stepped forward, this time not throwing a punch, but instead spreading his five fingers, gripping Rochester's throat, lifting him up, and slamming him against the other side of the earthen wall.

Rochester hit the ground on the back of his head, causing his vision to go black for a moment.

As it turns out, without suitable or equivalent weapons, it is extremely difficult to fight against such absolute individual combat power.

"I'm sure I'll never forget you, Rochester, that your body is still unharmed."

"If you were given a few more years to grow, you might far surpass 'Temushingor,' but you probably won't have that chance."

"Oh, right, I haven't told you yet, my name is Władysław Sikorski."

Władysław Sikorski is a very familiar name.

Rochester lay on his back in the puddle. Blood trickled from his forehead into the corner of his eye, and everything in his vision was blurry.

"it's over."

Rochester's fingers twitched.

"Purchase... 'Replica KPzW-19'"

The original product was a substandard one that the Vistula Federal Army imported from Britannia in 1919. It was originally designed for use in Britannia to suppress colonial uprisings, but it was phased out due to unstable power output from the power core and defects in the heat dissipation system.

Even so, the "Redvet Alliance" was in dire need of development, its industrial level was backward, and it could only imitate it.

[Reputation [2100] → [100]]

This thing, which Rochester had deemed utterly worthless, had now become his only lifeline.

Come on... appear anywhere...

if only...

suddenly!

A roar, like a propeller cutting through the air, came from above the clouds.

Sikorsky looked up.

A dark shadow tore through the clouds and fell.

"Bang—!!!"

The deafening clang of metal striking metal echoed through the trench, the shockwave blasting away the supporting timbers on either side and splashing mud and water all over Rochester's face.

That thing pinned Sikorsky to the ground.

Rochester used the edge of the ditch to get up.

Sikorsky, who had been slammed to the ground, looked at Rochester with a strange expression.

His power armor's alloy shell dented, and cracks spread from his chest to his shoulder armor.

Sikorsky's helmet visor was half torn, revealing half of his face.

"Rochester..."

[Threatening Target: Władysław Sikorski]

[Status: Severely Damaged]

Rochester bent down and pulled his entrenching tool out of the mud. "I probably won't forget you for the rest of my life."

"Bang!"

[Eliminated a threatening target: Władysław Sikorski]

[Gained Reputation [1000]]

Current Reputation: 1100

Sikorsky stopped moving. His helmet tilted to one side, revealing his still-open eyes, pupils dilated, reflecting the hazy sky above the trenches.

Rochester released the shovel handle. The sound of metal hitting the ground was drowned out by the distant artillery fire.

The edges of my field of vision started to darken.

In his last moments of consciousness, he heard someone shouting from above the trench.

Then everything turned black.

.......

.......

.......

Someone is patting his face.

It was very light, and carried a hint of impatience.

Rochester opened his eyes. What he saw was gold—not sunlight, but hair. Strands of hair hung down, the ends brushing against the tip of his nose, tickling him so much he wanted to sneeze.

"woke up?"

It was a girl's voice.

Rochester quickly realized that he had probably been saved by the medical hunchback... no, by the medical sis.

Ah... this kind of muscular older sister taking care of him is really not to Rochester's liking...

Rochester swallowed hard. "Where am I?"

Before the girl could speak, a group of people rushed in, including several familiar faces.

Andrei Ivanovich Yeremenko, Vasily Konstantinovich Blücher, and Anton.

As soon as he entered, he heard Blücher shout, "Where did this little kid come from? Don't disturb Commander Rochester's rest!"

"You're the little kid. I'm a medical nun, you know?! It's just... it's just that I'm a bit short."

Rochester sat up and looked around. "Hey, where's that medical nun?"

Rochester looked at the other three and lowered his head, following their gaze.

"Holy crap, where did this kid come from?"

"Ah! Ah! Ah! I'm a medical nun! Not a child!"

An oversized nun's robe wrapped around a petite figure, with blond hair, blue eyes, and something else that couldn't be directly described.

The players rushed in at that moment.

Because these players seemed to quickly discover something: after Rochester died, the distribution of rewards and the issuance of quests seemed to disappear.

They seemed to have already grasped a main theme.

It seems like Rochester really can't die.

The first thing the other players shouted when they rushed in was, "Commander Rochester!"

Except for the misguided guy.

"Holy crap, where did this blonde loli come from?"

"Holy crap, where is it? Where is it?"

"It's true, this game even has a nun in a loli form. I really thought it was all muscular men."

Looking at the noisy environment, Rochester smiled helplessly.

Anton interrupted the conversation, "Um, this young lady... cough... nun."

"You were just about to say 'kids,' right?!"

"Rochester's command of the body..."

"Hey!! Don't try to brush it off with that look!"

"I hope there's nothing seriously wrong with your health now."

After her impotent rage failed to vent her frustrations, the medical nun was forced to compromise: "Indeed, there is no serious injury. However, it is rare for someone to recover so quickly from an injury of this severity, without even any lasting effects."

"Wait, are you guys even listening to me?"

He watched as a dozen people held Rochester, crying and saying, "It's alright."

The medical nun was completely numb.