Los Angeles defector

Battlefield Syndrome

"What? You're asking to have him removed from the resistance army?" The regimental commander looked at Slashmaster in astonishment, his mouth slightly agape.

"Commander, think about it. He is from the government army, a deserter. He can't possibly be sincerely joining the resistance army, can't possibly be sincerely fighting vampires. This one rotten apple will spoil the whole bunch sooner or later."

The regimental commander walked up to Slashmaster with his hands behind his back and said, "In the past, we've also recruited from the government army, and they have become excellent resistance fighters. Why can't the same happen for him? Slashmaster, what's gotten into you, boy?"

The chief of staff, who had been sitting beside them all along, spoke up, "Slashmaster, stop beating around the bush. I think you have a problem with him because he used to be from the 67th Army, right?"

Slashmaster was transferred to the independent regiment just last year; previously, he was with the garrison regiment. Two years ago, the garrison regiment had a fierce confrontation with the 67th Army. After listening to Slashmaster's comments directed at the regimental commander, the chief of staff immediately figured out the background behind this situation.

The chief of staff hit the nail on the head, and Slashmaster didn't bother hiding it anymore. Excitedly, he said, "Back then, that damn 67th Army came to suppress the border area, causing us to lose so many people. I..."

"Alright, that's enough," the regimental commander interrupted Slashmaster. "I think I understand now. Slashmaster, do you realize you are letting personal vendettas cloud your judgment? At the very least, you are a platoon leader. Don't you have a bit of awareness? Go find a cool place to calm down."

"I have something to say!" Slashmaster persisted.

"Then keep your opinion to yourself!" the regimental commander shut him down.

The independent regiment finally quieted down. Sandy Sniffles, who used to cry and complain incessantly, now sat at the village square all day with a melancholic expression, soaking up the sun. Emily, who used to cause chaos, now spent her days happily training with Jason. The regimental commander and the staff officer were pleased, and all the soldiers in the regiment were happy - it was a joyous scene for everyone.

The morning sun shone brightly, lazily illuminating the compacted yellow soil of the training ground. However, the early spring wind was not gentle, repeatedly swirling up dust from the ground, disturbing the Second Platoon soldiers who were practicing assassination. To prevent accidents, the soldiers held sharpened wooden sticks wrapped with cotton or towels at the front end, mimicking the length, thickness, and weight of real rifles. During thrusting exercises, the movements had to be swift and powerful, focusing the force on the tip of the "blade," maintaining a stable body posture without leaning back. Slashmaster moved back and forth in the queue, supervising and giving instructions, shouting commands. As he looked up, he saw Jason and Emily returning from the eastern hill, passing by the edge of the training ground.

Every time Slashmaster saw Jason's bronzed face, he couldn't help but feel enraged. "Damn it, two years ago he was stabbing us in the back, and now he's swaggering around like he owns the place," he thought, growing more and more irritated as he watched. Unable to contain his anger, he shouted loudly, "Stop!"

Jason and Emily both stopped in their tracks upon hearing the shout, standing at the edge of the training ground. They instinctively tilted their heads to look at Slashmaster.

Slashmaster turned around and gave the order for the soldiers of the second platoon to stand at ease. He then walked slowly but steadily towards Jason and stood in front of him, crossing his arms. "You were with the 67th Army before, right?" he asked.

Listening carefully, as Slashmaster posed his question, Jason immediately understood. The tone and posture indicated that old scores were about to be settled. In the past, the 67th Army had fought against the resistance forces, and Jason had indeed taken part in those battles. Each side had their own duties to fulfill, and it was not personal. Now that he had joined the resistance forces, Jason didn't see any issue with it. He calmly replied, "Yes, I was."

"The weather is so nice today, it's rare for us to meet like this. Let's have a friendly exchange!"

"Exchange? You want to take out your frustrations on me," Jason thought to himself. "Not interested."

Slashmaster sneered, "As expected, the 67th Army is just a bunch of cowards and trash. A deserter like you wants to join the resistance forces? Disgusting! You're only fit to deceive children."

If it had been a civil discussion, Jason wouldn't have agreed. However, when Slashmaster's mocking words were loudly spoken in public, they ignited a fire within Jason. Both being men, it was as simple as that. Without a word, Jason walked silently onto the training ground. He casually grabbed a wooden spear from one of the soldiers, weighing it in his hand. It was slightly lighter than a real spear but similar enough. He jabbed it into the ground and said, "Come on, today I'll teach you a lesson!"

"The platoon leader is going to have a deadly dagger duel with that guy!" A clamor erupted, and the soldiers of the Second Platoon on the training ground gathered around, chattering and forming a circle, creating a space of about a few dozen square meters.

"Who is this ignorant and arrogant person?"

"It seems to be the new guy from Class Nine."

"Is he a deserter from the government army? Let the platoon leader teach that son of a b**** a lesson."

The wind gusts swept through, carrying dust and dried leaves, swirling and floating over the yellow earth. There were people all around, yet it was eerily quiet, with no one speaking, all eyes fixed on the two individuals in the center.

Jason rolled up the sleeves of his military uniform on his strong arms, holding a wooden spear, calming his mind as he focused his narrow eyes on Slashmaster across from him. The opponent's stance was very disciplined, with hardly any openings, breathing evenly. It appeared that he was experienced, the tip of his spear stable without any wavering. This was a master; even a vampire wouldn't be more formidable than him. However, Jason felt no fear in his heart; instead, he began to feel excited. The atmosphere seemed to give Jason a sense of the battlefield, instinctively focusing and gradually forgetting the surrounding chaotic sounds of breathing.

Slashmaster did not underestimate the deserter in front of him; he had been through battles himself, and he could sense an invisible pressure emanating from Jason's focused and calm expression. However, the deserter's spear stance was not as disciplined. From the subtle movements of his opponent, Slashmaster could tell that he wasn't just pretending; he truly lacked precision. Based on this, Slashmaster estimated his chances of winning at seventy percent. With this assurance, he no longer hesitated. Seizing an opening, he swiftly advanced and launched a sudden thrust, aiming directly at Jason's throat.

Fast, too fast! Jason flicked and then pressed with the tip of his spear, attempting to deflect the strike, but he hadn't anticipated that not only was his opponent fast, but also strong. The strike was only slightly deflected, still within the dangerous range of attack.

Seeing the favorable situation, Slashmaster seized the opportunity to press the tip of his spear down and then advanced again. With a second thrust, he aimed straight for Jason's heart.

Helpless, Jason swung the shaft of his spear sideways, attempting to block the strike, but his movement was a bit slow. The opponent's spear tip grazed against his spear shaft and slid in, although deflected slightly, it still pierced fiercely into Jason's side.

Even though the spear tip was wrapped in cloth, Slashmaster had put all his strength into it. The impact caused Jason to stagger back a few steps, enduring the intense pain in his side as he struggled to regain his balance.

Finally, Slashmaster's triumphant smile emerged. It was time to end this. With a few strides for momentum, he charged forward and lunged for the final strike.

The intense pain in his side caused Jason's blood to surge. Before he could regain his balance, a new crisis loomed ahead.

At that moment, the sense of crisis honed over years of battlefield experience finally erupted. Everything around him dimmed suddenly, losing its color. What he saw with his eyes was no longer just a wooden spear; it was a gleaming, sharp blade coming at him, ruthlessly aiming to take his life.

At that moment, an unprecedented thought flashed through Jason's mind—I cannot die. I have a woman now, I have someone to care for. If I fall, she may never make it back home.

At that moment, Jason's hand fiercely grabbed the dagger flashing with a cold light aimed at his chest. The blade seemed to have already cut through his palm, with blood gushing out from the clenched gaps. Despite the ferocious impact, the dagger continued its menacing advance, pushing Jason's body backward, greedily eager to harvest life.

At that moment, Jason exerted all his strength to swing up the spear, aiming to shatter the source of this crisis.

With a c***k, the wooden spear broke into two pieces on Slashmaster's forehead, one piece flying off while the other remained tightly gripped in Jason's hand.

Blood splattered as Slashmaster felt a deep regret within, "Just an inch more, and I could have stabbed that bastard's chest. But I couldn't dodge this desperate blow." He felt a red veil cover his vision, followed swiftly by encroaching darkness.

Blood splattered as Slashmaster felt a deep regret within, "Just an inch more, and I could have stabbed that bastard's chest. But I couldn't dodge this desperate blow." He felt a red veil cover his vision, followed swiftly by encroaching darkness.

With a thud, Slashmaster's sturdy body lay sprawled on the playground.

The wind continued to blow, stirring up dust as Jason stood numbly on the playground. In his left hand, he clenched the tip of Slashmaster's wooden spear, while in his right hand, he held half of his own spear.

Amid a circle of astonished eyes, a sharp voice shattered the silence, "This bastard killed the captain! Kill this deserter from the government army!"

Boom—The soldiers from the Second Platoon finally exploded into action, charging forward with their wooden spears.

Before Jason could fully regain his senses, he felt surrounded by enemies closing in on him, a dark mass converging towards him.