Every time a soldier came in to report, the atmosphere inside the tent became noticeably heavier.
Defeats, defeats, defeats...
Endless defeats.
Every time, every time, it was all bad news.
Where they were breached, which team was annihilated, how long it took, how many were killed or injured...
Of course, sometimes they were lucky and managed to shoot one or two GS9 cadets, but this was completely disproportionate to their own casualties. Piles of numbers were laid out, infinitely expanding the gap in casualty ratios.
Mo Shangjun sat calmly in her chair, sipping tea from time to time. Those unaware might think she was the opposing big shot, pointing her finger at strategic plans with victory in hand.
Yet, they clearly saw the blank space on Mo Shangjun's epaulettes, indicating she was now just an ordinary cadet, no different from those fighting outside.
Thus, there was a profound sense of incongruity.
The whole scene was indescribably strange.
