69: Chapter 70 The Last Liquid and the Broken Finger Bone

The apple was gone.

That thin, translucent slice of fruit flesh spun across the tongues of eight people, leaving behind a faint, almost imperceptible sweetness.

But this sweetness was quickly overwhelmed by the taste of rust in their throats.

Jack felt as if a file with barbs had been shoved down his windpipe, and every breath tore at his swollen mucous membranes.

The air in the trench had solidified.

That stifling heat mixed with the stench of excrement, gunpowder, rotten flesh, and heavy bloodiness, thickly coating their skin.

There wasn't enough oxygen; everyone gasped, trying to claw out a breath of life from that foul odor.

"Water... water..."

In the corner, a wounded man was murmuring deliriously.

His forehead was hot enough to bake bread, and the bandage over his wound had long since turned dark brown, still oozing yellow fluid.

The inflammation caused by dehydration was rapidly claiming these young lives.

The radio operator, Xiao Zhang, tried to shout into his walkie-talkie.

That was the lifeline of the entire company, their only hope for contacting the artillery support in the rear.

But when he opened his mouth, only a wheezing sound, like an old bellows, came from his throat.

His tongue was swollen so badly it pressed against the roof of his mouth, and its scorched, yellowed surface was split by deep fissures.

"Zhang... open your mouth..."

Xiao Zhang gestured weakly, his eyes unfocused.

He wanted to speak, wanted to report the enemy's coordinates, wanted to have the heavy artillery blow those damned tanks to pieces.

But he couldn't; his cracked throat couldn't produce a single complete syllable.

Dai Dai crawled over and flipped open her first-aid kit.

Inside, there was nothing but a few empty medicine bottles and a few rolls of bloody bandages.

She looked at the canteen, which was already nearly empty.

She shook it, but not even a sound came from within.

In the livestream room, the audience members who usually flooded the screen with comments like "Give me one too" were all silent.

In the feed, those soldiers who had once been full of vigor on the training grounds were now huddled like a pile of withered grass.

"We need to get some water."

Brother Bao's voice was hoarse, like two pieces of rough sandpaper rubbing together.

He stared at the vital signs curve on the system panel.

The blue bar representing hydration was already at zero, and the red warning box was flashing incessantly.

"How? The outside is completely blockaded by the US military. Anyone who goes out dies."

A player collapsed onto the ground; his vision was already blurry.

Under extreme dehydration, people experience hallucinations.

He felt like the gray, hazy rock walls were turning into the stream from his hometown, flowing gurglingly.

Dai Dai bit her lip until the dry skin cracked and bled.

She suddenly turned her head and looked toward the discarded tin can in the corner.

It contained a murky, yellowish liquid that emitted a pungent smell of ammonia.

It was urine.

"For Xiao Zhang."

Dai Dai's voice was small, but it made everyone in the trench freeze.

Jack looked at the tin can.

This was the product of physiological limits, the final boundary of a person's dignity.

Before this moment, even when dying of thirst, no one had mentioned this.

"He's the radio operator."

Dai Dai lifted the can, her hand trembling.

She first brought it to her own lips.

As the nauseating smell rushed into her nostrils, she gagged once but forced herself to hold it back.

She took the lead, sipping a mouthful; sourness and bitterness exploded on her taste buds.

She swallowed, then handed the can to Xiao Zhang's mouth.

Tears welled up in Xiao Zhang's eyes.

He looked at this girl, this young woman who should have been cherished back home.

He didn't refuse; he knew his throat was more valuable than his life.

He tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful, then coughed violently, using that foul liquid to moisten his burning throat.

"Coordinates... East side of Hill 597.9... Request... mass artillery saturation!"

The voice emerged.

Hoarse, unpleasant, yet it became the most beautiful music in the trench.

But this was ultimately a drop in the bucket.

By the next day, even the urine was gone.

Everyone's body had dried up like rotten wood; not another drop of water could be squeezed out.

Dai Dai looked at the young soldier who was delirious from fever.

He was a new recruit, only seventeen years old.

He was calling for his mother, his hand constantly grasping at the air, trying to catch snow that didn't exist.

Dai Dai looked toward the trench entrance.

Because it had been bombarded constantly over the years, the rock there had become brittle.

Due to the drastic temperature difference between day and night, a tiny bit of dew might condense in the cracks of the rock face.

It was so little that one had to lick it drop by drop with their tongue to collect enough moisture to soothe their throat.

"Don't go."

Jack grabbed her; his deep-set eyes were filled with pleading.

US snipers were outside, watching every living creature that dared to show its head.

"I'll just be right near the edge... just a lick."

Dai Dai broke free from Jack and crawled toward the trench entrance using all fours.

Outside, a flare illuminated the scorched earth a deathly white.

Dai Dai pressed against the cold rock wall; she felt it.

It was a thin layer of dampness on the stone blackened by artillery fire, like manna bestowed upon mortals.

She opened her mouth, and her tongue touched that coolness, so cold it made her want to cry.

She licked desperately, wanting to bring back just a little more for the feverish child.

Just then, a streak of red light cut across the night sky.

It was the tracer round's trajectory.

"Pop!"

A crisp gunshot was exceptionally jarring in the silent night.

Dai Dai let out a muffled groan and fell back into the trench.

Jack rushed forward like a madman and caught her body.

Dai Dai's right hand.

Two fingers were gone.

The stark white bone fragments were exposed to the air, but not much blood flowed out.

Her body was extremely desiccated; even bleeding had become a luxury.

"Water... it's on the rock... hurry and collect it..."

Dai Dai convulsed in pain, yet she pointed to the spot she had just been licking.

The moment those two fingers were shot off, her only thought was regret—regret that she hadn't managed to lick one more time.

Brother Bao walked over silently.

He looked at the radio operator who desperately needed stamina, at that heavy radio equipment that had to be carried everywhere.

He fished out a crushed tube of toothpaste from the corner.

It was captured US supplies.

He squeezed the toothpaste into a puddle of water mixed with mud and rock chips, stirring it with his hand.

The water was murky, shimmering with a strange green light.

He picked up that bowl of muddy water and drank it all down.

The spicy mint flavor masked the earthy stench but couldn't hide the sickening texture.

He had to drink it, because he was the one with the best physical endurance; he had to carry the company's last spine during the coming counterattack.

Jack bandaged Dai Dai's wound.

He looked at the girl's broken fingers, then turned to look at the pitch-black battlefield.

Hatred.

A hatred that had surpassed the game's settings, transcended the dungeon mechanics, and was deeply etched into the soul, was now growing wildly within this exhausted shell.

"Su Yun, you watch this."

Jack muttered to himself.

"We must win this battle."