The Northern Second Soul Engineer Regiment had only nine seconds.
Nine seconds to survive. Nine seconds to prepare. Nine seconds to face the hundred fixed soul cannon shells screaming toward every corner of their camp.
In those nine seconds, the outcome of the entire battle would be decided. If even a portion of the cannon shells reached the densely packed formation of their regiment, it would result in utter devastation—fire, ash, craters, and charred remains scattered across the field. The entire frontline would collapse.
As the commander of the Northern Second Regiment, an experienced and powerful rank-eight soul engineer, he was the first to detect the oncoming volley. His senses screamed of danger the moment he picked up the terrifying aura of high-grade munitions within the barrage—level-seven and even level-eight fixed soul cannon shells. Just detecting them nearly made his blood run cold.
He clenched his teeth and spat out a mouthful of blood in fury. His eyes widened with disbelief.
"So soon? Xu Tiannan has already retaliated?"
There was no time to question or hesitate. The commander immediately launched himself skyward, igniting his eight-grade soul tool barrier, a glowing blue shield that shimmered like frozen starlight. He sent out a spiritual transmission to the entire regiment.
"All level-seven soul engineers—rise immediately! Intercept the nine incoming level-seven soul cannon shells! Everyone else—activate your personal barriers and prepare to deploy the fixed formation soul array!"
Even as he gave the order, he dashed toward the brightest shell in the sky—the level-eight shell, which burned like a falling sun.
It was the only plan he could make under the circumstances. Reduce casualties, maintain order, and try to mount a resistance.
All over the camp, chaos erupted into action. Rank-seven engineers gritted their teeth, activated their soul shields, and leapt into the air. They knew full well that facing a cannon shell of equal grade was nearly suicidal, but they didn't flinch. These were soldiers forged by the iron rule of the Northern Duke. Fear was not in their vocabulary.
Back on the ground, ranks three through six scrambled. Those near the fixed soul tool installations ran to power up the central arrays, while others grouped into threes and fours to activate smaller mobile soul formations in a desperate attempt to create layered defense lines.
But the truth was—would the New First Army give them the time they needed?
Absolutely not.
In standard Douluo battle doctrine, no attacks followed a fixed soul cannon barrage until after the initial explosion. It was a given, a tradition, a tactical rhythm every army obeyed.
But the New First Army was built differently. They had no such limitations.
Their units operated in modular combat groups. Each squad specialized in its role. Coordination was their doctrine. Synchronization was their strength.
And now, as the shells still streaked through the sky, the fire support and sniper teams made their move.
Encircling the enemy camp from roughly five hundred meters out, the fire support teams had already prepared their artillery positions. They opened fire.
Dozens of specialized soul tools roared to life, launching an overwhelming torrent of ammunition: shock grenades, fragmentation rounds, piercing rays, disintegration beams, ion lances, soul energy bursts. It was as if a meteor shower had descended upon the earth.
Explosions ripped through tents, towers, and turrets. Soldiers were flung like rag dolls, their screams lost beneath the thunderous bombardment. Soul shields blinked and shattered under the barrage. The ground quaked. Fire bloomed like crimson flowers.
In just five seconds, the initial salvo ended—but the result was catastrophic.
Over half the regiment's ground forces had fallen. The rest were dazed, wounded, or scrambling to recover. With no backup from high-ranking engineers and most of their shield batteries drained, there was no way to initiate a full formation soul barrier.
And the real danger was still on its way.
The fixed cannon shells.
The fire support squads, following protocol, quickly dismantled their cannons and retreated into the dark. Their mission was done.
High above, the regiment commander looked down upon the chaos. His heart sank.
"They struck before the shells landed? That's not... that's not how soul engineer warfare is supposed to work!"
But war wasn't supposed to follow rules.
Now, all they could do was mitigate the final blow. If they failed to stop the incoming high-grade shells, then their regiment—the pride of the North—would cease to exist in a matter of seconds.
With a roar of desperation, the commander activated his martial soul avatar.
His body became a conduit of icy light, his soul cannons emerging like icy thorns along his limbs and back. Dozens of barrel-like constructs targeted the level-eight cannon shell, unleashing a barrage of intercepting fire.
The rank-seven engineers followed suit. If they could destabilize the shells early, perhaps they could force a detonation before impact.
But it was no use.
The shells were undeterred.
These weren't standard cannon shells. These were Mingde Hall's specially engineered ordnance—encased in armored shells, equipped with precision soul-energy-triggered fuses. They wouldn't explode from mere contact. They only triggered upon impact with soul energy or upon reaching their predetermined coordinates.
All interception attempts failed.
Left with no options, the engineers poured all their remaining energy into shielding themselves.
And then—
Boom!
The northern night lit up like a hellish sunrise.
Ten massive explosions burst across the sky, shockwaves erupting like rings of compressed air. Soldiers, soul tools, and military structures alike were blasted away in a cyclone of force.
The sky itself seemed to wail.
When the smoke cleared, it revealed a camp in ruins—and a regiment on the brink of collapse.
The engineers who had flown up to intercept the shells were scattered like leaves. Their bodies were scorched, bloodied, their soul shields shattered or flickering. Some crashed into the ground with hollow thuds. Others dangled midair, unconscious.
If it weren't for their emergency invincibility shields or last-second defense measures, many would've died instantly.
Even the commander, with his unique defenses, had suffered serious injuries. His aura flickered. His breath came in ragged gasps.
It was no longer a battle.
It was a massacre.
The New First Army had demonstrated overwhelming tactical superiority, timing, coordination, and ruthlessness. They broke the rules, struck at unexpected moments, and never allowed the enemy to breathe.
Now, only a few key players in the regiment remained.
And they knew—this was just the beginning.
The true horror of the New First Army had yet to fully unfold.
(End of Chapter)
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