Chapter Seven: Marching Into Battle

1943, during the Second World War.

Under the command of German Chancellor Adolf Hitler and the Nazi Party, armies launched massive invasions across Europe.

Kyle, a new recruit, was dispatched directly to the 102nd Regiment of the 6th Marine Division, camped at the front lines.

In the afternoon, a military helicopter arrived at the training base to pick up personnel, and by around nine in the evening, Kyle had reached the front. As the helicopter hovered above the makeshift headquarters, he immediately understood why he had been hurriedly sent here.

Looking down from the helicopter, the camp below was illuminated by a dozen or so warm, yellowish floodlights. Tents and military supplies were scattered in utter disorder, and officers and soldiers moved frantically about, like ants on a hot pan.

“Those madmen are still pushing forward—requesting more ammunition support!”

“Someone help here, bring the medical stretcher!”

“Where’s the manpower? Hasn’t anyone arrived from the rear yet?!”

“All units, reinforce the combat zone! Not a single step further into our territory!”

The commanding officer, hoarse from shouting into a loudspeaker, directed the chaos. Wounded men, groaning with missing limbs, were hurriedly carried into tents by medics. Blood-soaked soldiers unloaded new ammunition from the rear helicopters, climbed into mud-spattered military trucks, and drove headlong into the darkness of the combat zone.

The American army, usually famed for its strict discipline, was now thrown into utter confusion.

“Soldier! Are you the new reinforcement?” A sweaty officer with a thick beard strode over as Kyle disembarked from the helicopter, grabbing him by the arm.

“Yes, Private Kyle reporting for duty,” Kyle replied swiftly.

“You’re the only new recruit? No need to report in—there aren’t enough men. Grab your weapon and get to the battlefield! We’ll assign you later.” The officer spoke hurriedly, tossing Kyle’s duffel by a tent, treating him as nothing more than cannon fodder.

And indeed, it was true—new recruits with no combat experience, sent straight to a major battlefield, were rarely expected to return.

“I understand,” Kyle said, taking a deep breath. He was already outfitted in combat gear, with a bulletproof vest and a steel helmet. Gripping his assault rifle, he jumped into the back of a supply truck.

The four-wheel drive truck sped towards the battlefront, headlights slicing through the darkness. Kyle’s grip on his rifle tightened as the sound of distant explosions grew louder, his heartbeat and adrenaline surging.

“It doesn’t feel like fear—am I actually excited?” he murmured. He had drawn too many ability cards, including more than a dozen that strengthened his willpower.

Never mind, better to distract himself.

Kyle’s gaze fell on the supplies in the truck bed. With a thought, a dense array of item cards appeared on the surface of the crates.

[Medical Stretcher]

[Emergency Medical Kit]

[Military Rations]

[American Hand Grenade]

[Assault Rifle]

[Box of Medium Caliber Rifle Rounds]

...

These were the common white item cards, but among them were also a few green ones: [High-Explosive Grenade], [High-Power Sniper Rifle], [Short-Range Rocket Launcher].

Unlike before, these item cards were all available for extraction.

“So that’s how it works,” Kyle’s eyes gleamed as he murmured, “I can’t extract items that are in someone else’s possession. But these supplies, for now, belong to no one—I can freely extract them, convert them into item cards, and carry them with me.”

No sense in leaving them.

He immediately began extracting items from the truck, converting some into cards—after all, these supplies were destined for the front, and a little less would hardly be missed.

He had assumed that, like ability cards, the green item cards would require more than three minutes to extract. But for unclaimed items, extraction took only three seconds.

“Five rockets—taking two should be enough.”

As he hesitated over the last item, a sudden burst of gunfire erupted. The driver screamed, and the truck lurched violently before crashing to a halt against an obstacle.

Ambush!

Kyle reacted instantly, tensing and crouching with his weapon against the truck wall, listening intently.

Footsteps approached rapidly. He quickly realized the enemy did not intend to destroy the supply truck, but to seize it.

“They want the supplies intact—this is my chance,” Kyle thought with icy calm. Hundreds of combat skills and ability cards now came into play.

He gripped his rifle in his right hand, and with his left, silently drew a green item card from thin air, materializing it between two fingers.

Unlike ability cards, which only manifest as personal skills, item cards could be rendered tangible or intangible—transformed back into real items for use.

“Careful—go check it out.”

“Stay alert.”

Two enemy soldiers, speaking quietly in German, jogged toward the truck’s canvas-covered rear. As they raised their bayoneted rifles to prod aside the tarp, a dark, round metal object flew out.

“Damn, grenade!”

“Down!”

The words had barely left their lips before the two German soldiers were blown apart, flesh and stone spraying through the night. In the confusion, a figure darted from the truck bed.

“Enemy!”

The remaining three German soldiers opened fire, bullets tearing into the dirt and their comrades’ bodies, but hitting nothing.

Far too fast.

Shrouded by night and the chaos of the grenade, Kyle’s movement was impossible to track. By the time they tried to locate him, his counterattack had already begun.

Bang!

A gunshot rang out from the darkness—the leading German soldier dropped, a bullet bursting through his forehead, blood and brain matter spraying the others.

Before the shocked pair could even determine the direction of the shot, two more gunshots sounded.

Three shots in total—no more, no less—the sound of a death sentence. The remaining two German soldiers quickly joined their comrades on the ground.

“Not bad,” Kyle muttered, stepping out from behind a tree into the gloom, scanning the corpses sprawled in blood.

As he’d rushed from the truck, he’d caught sight of their positions in the corner of his eye, dodged the first hail of bullets, and then fired with deadly accuracy.

His first real combat—a flawless victory, five against one, without a scratch.

“My first time killing,” Kyle said softly, looking at the half-shattered corpse of a German soldier nearby, eyes frozen open in death’s disbelief.

His face remained emotionless, cold as a reaper.

He had expected that, after his first kill and the carnage before him, he would at least be sick.

But in truth, he felt nothing. His iron will told him plainly: if he hadn’t killed them, he’d be the one lying cold and dead.

“I’m not here for justice or country—I’m here for myself. As long as I’m alive in this world, I’ll stand my ground and make something of myself,” Kyle said coolly to the bodies on the ground. “Running into me—well, you were just out of luck.”