In any war, underestimating the enemy always came with a devastatingly tragic price.
Lu Yongyi understood this clearly from beginning to end.
But the others didn't. The raft, the captains of the sand ships, and even the captains of a few large ships only learned this lesson today through the endless waves of death.
"How many people died?"
He sat on the deck of The Tundra, which was already painted red with blood. Looking at the corpses of the alien race scattered around, Lu Yongyi clutched the still-bleeding wound on his shoulder. His gaze remained sharp.
At this moment, he thought of his old friend, Qiu Xinghuo.
He even thought that if Xinghuo were alive, the fleet would never have ended up in this predicament.
"Shelter Leader Lu, our... casualty rate... is over fifty percent..."
"The data... the data is still being compiled..."
"We still have seven large ships and eighteen small ones. As for the wooden rafts... we have twenty-two wooden rafts left!"
