Donglin Fortress.
"Meng Xiaobei, what's the casualty report?"
On the mechanized high wall of the fortress, Ye Qiu wiped the bloodstain from his face.
It wasn't his own, but from killing too many Crimson Insect Race, splattering onto his face.
He had hardly any time to rest, only now barely managing to catch his breath for half a moment.
"The entire Slaughter Corps has died eleven times. Some of the more bloodthirsty ones died for the twelfth time as well."
"The defense of Donglin Fortress is over eighty percent damaged, and it won't be long before it can no longer withstand the Insect Tide of the Crimson Insect Race."
"Additionally, we've completely run out of ammunition, so we'll have to rely on hand-to-hand combat next..."
Meng Xiaobei reported each piece of information, a hint of bitterness in his voice.
