on the wasteland.

　　 To the west of the No. 7 stronghold, 20 kilometers away from the market town, a train fleet was running on the road with yellow sand.

　　 The sky is dark and there are no paper cranes outside the window

On one of the medium-sized off-road vehicles with the words'Military Reserve', the burly, cold-faced middle-aged man looked up at the increasingly gloomy sky, turned his head and said loudly to the young man riding the motorcycle outside the window: "Get up. The wind is up, and the market town will not be reached tonight, go and sue

The content of this chapter is being updated...