Colin lowered his head and sighed. “Not so good. We lost a large chunk of our men in the Air Force on the very first day, but the casualty rate went down sharply from then onwards. About ten thousand men perished on the battlefield... “
Nathan grimaced. “When was the last time we suffered such a loss?”
“The Xyperian forces suffered an even greater loss, Chief,” Colin said. “They lost twice as many men as us.
“Yeah, Chief!” a member of the Elite Eight said while nodding. “The whole world knows of our victory against the Xyperians and the Dragonslayer Special Troops!”
“By the way, Chief, President Woods has made sure to prevent news of your incapacitation from reaching the ears of the media. There is no need to worry about it,” Colin added. “President Woods is waiting for your return to Brimmopolis, Chief! He promised to bestow the title upon you officially!”
Suddenly, the door to the ward open, and in came Rupert Rothschild, who was the director of North Army Hospital, as well as Fang, Destroyer and Heptakill.
“I'm glad you're awake, Chief!” Fang cried.
Nathan smiled. “Did I make you worry?”
“We were terrified, Chief,” Fang said with a sigh. “Don't you know how many Critical Illness Notices Dr. Rothschild has given us over the past two weeks?”
Nathan's eyes widened in shock. Critical Illness
Notices?
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