Chapter 112: Oh No, Vacation’s Over

“It was alright, just some daily trivial matters,” Cecilia replied casually as she walked.

“Big Sister Cecilia, is something bothering you these past few days?” Morin asked tentatively. “I feel like you seem a little unhappy.”

Cecilia stopped walking. She turned and quietly looked at Morin with her gray-blue eyes.

After a long moment, she let out a soft sigh, then said with a slight hint of vulnerability:

“I thought you weren’t going to ask…”

“Fritz, you finally made it back… I just wanted to talk with you more. After all, in this enormous city of Dresden, you are the only relative I can truly talk to.”

Hearing Cecilia’s words, Morin realized he seemed to have overlooked his older sister’s feelings.

“But it’s alright. What can I do? You are my younger brother, after all.”

Although she hadn’t said much, Morin’s action of proactively seeking her out to talk—and not for money—still made Cecilia feel happy.

“Don’t worry, Big Sister Cecilia~ I promise I will spend more time with you during this period. I also have a lot of questions I need to ask for your advice.”

“You promised.”

A faint smile finally appeared on Cecilia’s face.

With Morin’s assurance, her mood clearly brightened, and the previous sense of subtle distance vanished.

The two walked side by side down the corridor covered with soft carpets, the atmosphere no longer as heavy as before.

“By the way, how did your business at the Patent Office go today?” Cecilia asked, seemingly casual.

“It went quite smoothly~”

Morin organized his thoughts and briefly explained: “I developed a technology on the battlefield. Because it involves military secrets, it went through the state secret patent process. If it passes the review, I should receive a considerable compensation sum.”

“Compensation sum?”

Cecilia stopped walking, looking at him with a touch of worry.

“Fritz, you must not be reckless with money like you were before, just because you’ve gotten a little bit.”

In her mind, Morin’s definition of ‘considerable’ was probably just a few tens of thousands, or at most a hundred thousand Marks.

That amount might be huge for an ordinary person.

But for Morin, who was used to an extravagant lifestyle, it would likely be squandered in no time.

“Don’t worry, Sister, I am no longer the person I used to be.” Morin promised with a smile.

“I don’t plan to waste this money. I want to use it for some investments.”

“Investments?” Cecilia was surprised. She hadn’t expected Morin to consider such a thing.

“What do you want to invest in?”

“I’m thinking… of setting up a weapons manufacturing company, or something similar.” Morin voiced his idea.

Naturally, he couldn’t tell Cecilia that he was doing this because he was worried about future hyperinflation that could turn the Imperial Mark into worthless paper overnight.

In that situation, owning tangible industry and gold reserves was far better than having a stack of worthless paper.

He could only use another excuse that sounded more plausible and was, in fact, not entirely a lie.

“You know, when I’m on the battlefield, strange ideas always pop into my head.”

Morin explained: “If some of these ideas can be turned into reality, they might prove extremely useful… So I thought, having my own weapons company would make it easier for me to materialize these ideas, conduct experiments, and research.”

After hearing Morin’s explanation, Cecilia was silent for a moment.

She looked at Morin’s eyes, which were filled with genuine enthusiasm, and gradually smiled with relief.

The young man who once only chased after pleasure seemed to have truly grown up under the baptism of fire.

“I’m very happy that you have such an idea, Fritz~ But you don’t have to worry too much. Your sister will always look after you…”

Cecilia said with relief, but she clearly hadn’t grasped the actual amount of Morin’s compensation yet.

“Setting up a company is very complicated. It involves many aspects, and the initial investment is substantial. Your compensation might not be enough…”

“Sister, 20 million Imperial Marks should be enough, right?”

Cecilia froze. She suspected she might have misheard the number, but she mostly suspected Morin was joking.

“Fritz, I know you want to make me happy, but you don’t have to…”

“It’s true, Big Sister Cecilia, listen to me detail the story.”

Morin interrupted her, then recounted how he had gained the Crown Prince’s favor and the subsequent events to Cecilia in their entirety.

After hearing Morin’s narration, Cecilia felt dizzy, as if she had suffered a huge shock.

She instinctively reached for the wall, but Morin quickly reached out and steadied her first.

“Fritz, everything you’ve said… I feel like I’m listening to a story. I need a moment to process this.”

“Of course, Sister~”

After dinner, Luna, the Head Maid, had planned to review the next day’s schedule with Cecilia.

However, she found the study door tightly closed. According to the maids, the Madam had gone into the study with the Young Master right after dinner, seemingly eager to discuss some urgent matter.

Luna looked at the closed door, a knowing smile on her face. She wisely chose not to follow, instead excusing herself to arrange dinner.

Inside the study, after Cecilia’s simple explanation, Morin gained a deeper understanding of the 20 million compensation.

Falkenstein-Eisenstein Joint Industries, which Cecilia controlled, was the largest registered brilliant crystal industry giant in the Saxon Empire, with multiple mines and refineries in the Empire’s overseas colonies.

Its annual sales were 900 million to 1 billion Imperial Marks.

Although Cecilia did not state the actual annual profit, she told Morin it was roughly between 7% and 10%.

This meant the actual annual profit would not exceed 100 million Imperial Marks.

Morin’s patent compensation alone amounted to one-fifth of the giant’s actual annual profit.

What did this signify?

It meant Crown Prince Georg was definitely worth associating with.

With this thought, Morin’s resolve to hold onto the two influential figures only grew stronger.

Soon, Cecilia and Morin discussed the investment and factory construction.

“Fritz, I can help you handle all the related matters—from company registration and legal document preparation to future factory location, equipment procurement, and even the recruitment of skilled workers…”

“Really? That’s wonderful!” Morin was overjoyed.

He had been worrying about how to handle these琐碎（trivial） matters, as he had no experience running a company.

Yet, Cecilia had solved everything with a single sentence.

It feels great to have a rich older sister.

“Of course, it’s true. I will unconditionally support anything you want to do, Fritz.”

Having realized Morin’s ‘transformation,’ Cecilia looked at him with an almost doting gaze.

“You are, after all, an Imperial officer. Your energy should be focused on your primary duty. You can’t let these trivial matters distract you.”

At this point, a hint of worry flashed in Cecilia’s eyes. She sighed and said:

“I was originally still going to persuade you to retire, but now that His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince regards you so highly, it really wouldn’t look good for you to take the patent money and just leave…”

“That is true.”

The two continued to discuss the vision for the future company until late into the night.

Cecilia’s keen business acumen, her wealth of experience in commercial operations, and her view that ‘a war among the European powers is inevitable’ gave Morin a new appreciation for the ‘noblewoman.’

It also gave him a clearer, more concrete plan for his own initial, hasty idea of ‘starting a company.’

The atmosphere between them grew more harmonious than it had been in days.

It wasn’t until past 10 PM that Morin stood up, bade her goodnight, and prepared to return to his room, and Cecilia personally saw him to the door.

“Good night, Fritz.”

“Good night, Sister.”

The next morning, Morin finally recovered from the dizziness caused by the 20 million Marks.

The massive sum even allowed him to sleep for two extra hours, undisturbed by his biological clock.

Money was important, but how to convert this fortune into greater power was Morin’s most pressing concern.

He planned to talk to Cecilia today about setting up a weapons manufacturing company and finding reliable firearms designers.

However, just as he finished breakfast and was waiting for Cecilia to wake up, the butler suddenly approached him.

“Young Master Morin, the War Office is calling. Please take the call immediately.”

The War Office?

Morin’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t dare to delay and immediately followed the butler to the study.

The voice on the other end of the line was concise and authoritative. After confirming his identity, the person said only one sentence: “First Lieutenant Morin, please report to the War Office immediately.”

Morin hung up the phone. As he returned to the main hall to leave, Cecilia was also just coming downstairs after waking up.

Upon hearing about the call, a flicker of worry crossed Cecilia’s gray-blue eyes.

“Aren’t you on leave? Is there something urgent that the War Office would call you at this time?”

“I’m not sure. They just instructed me to go immediately.”

“I’ll have someone drive you.”

“No need,” Morin shook his head. “I can drive myself…”

“Are you sure you know how to drive?”

Morin paused. He realized he hadn’t fully figured out how to operate the brilliant crystal-powered automobile.

Even if it was similar to the cars before his transmigration, he couldn’t drive this ‘old antique.’ If it stalled halfway, it would only cause trouble.

Morin immediately stopped insisting. Cecilia walked over to him, gently smoothing the wrinkles in his uniform, her touch soft.

“Come back soon, and send word if anything happens.” Her voice was quiet.

Compared to the General Staff Headquarters, which held supreme military command, the War Office was more like the administrative center of the Imperial Army.

It handled all the trivial matters from troop organization and equipment supply to officer personnel management, essentially serving as the entire Army’s ‘chief steward.’

The carriage carrying Morin stopped in front of the War Office.

It was a heavy, stark Saxon-style building. The sentries standing guard at the entrance were ramrod straight, exuding an imposing air of unspoken authority.

He reported his identity, and a Major wearing the rank of Lieutenant Colonel quickly emerged from the building.

“First Lieutenant Morin?”

“Yes, sir!” Morin immediately saluted him.

“Come with me.” The Lieutenant Colonel returned the salute, his attitude very amicable. “No need to be nervous. This is good news.”

He led Morin through a long corridor to a private reception room.

“Today is mainly for your medal presentation,” the Lieutenant Colonel explained. “Your brave performance on the Seville front has spread throughout the Army High Command.”

Just as he finished speaking, the other door to the room opened, and a stern-looking elder in a General’s uniform, wearing the rank insignia of a General, walked in.

Morin’s breathing quickened, not because of the man’s rank.

But because of his identity.

This General was General Erich von Falkenhayn, the Minister of War for the Saxon Empire.

In the world before his transmigration, he had a much more notorious nickname: the Butcher of Verdun.

Morin instinctively straightened his chest, his breathing becoming shallow.

Falkenhayn wasted no words. He walked directly up to Morin, his deep gaze lingering on the young man’s face for a moment.

“First Lieutenant Friedrich Morin, your performance on the Seville front is a credit to the honor of a Saxon soldier.”

His voice was steady and powerful. An aide-de-camp carrying a velvet tray stepped forward. Two medals rested quietly on the tray.

Falkenhayn personally picked up the First Class Iron Cross and carefully pinned it onto Morin’s chest, then pinned the Seville Campaign Commemorative Medal as well.

“The medals for the soldiers under your command will be distributed uniformly upon their return to duty.”

Falkenhayn finished speaking, nodded at him, then turned and left the room, his entire demeanor quick and decisive, without any delay.

Morin slowly exhaled only after the door closed.

The Lieutenant Colonel next to him smiled and patted his shoulder: “Don’t be nervous. That’s just the Minister’s style… Congratulations, First Lieutenant Morin. The Empire’s youngest recipient of the First Class Iron Cross.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The Lieutenant Colonel motioned for him to sit down, then took a document from his briefcase.

“Now, there is one more, more important matter to inform you of.”

His expression turned serious.

“With the personal push of His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, the War Office has officially approved the formation of a brand new operational unit—the 1st Teaching Assault Battalion of the Saxon Royal Guard.”

“And you, First Lieutenant Morin, will be promoted to Captain.”

The Lieutenant Colonel, responsible for personnel assignments in the War Office, looked at Morin’s eyes and said clearly, word for word:

“You will also be appointed as the first Battalion Commander of this unit, fully responsible for its formation, training, and command.”

To be honest, Morin hadn’t expected Crown Prince Georg’s efficiency to be this high; it had only been two or three days since he returned home.

However, he still had some concerns. After all, he truly lacked experience commanding a battalion-sized unit and hadn’t learned how to do so in military school.

“This is a joint decision by the General Staff and His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince.”

The Lieutenant Colonel continued:

“During wartime, the 1st Teaching Assault Battalion of the Guard will not be subordinate to any operational unit but will report directly to the General Staff for deployment.”

Morin forcefully suppressed his excitement and asked cautiously: “Sir, what preparations do I need to make?”

At this question, the Lieutenant Colonel’s serious expression finally cracked, revealing a slightly peculiar smile.

“The War Office knows your combat merits are outstanding, and we trust your ability, but…”

“We are also concerned about your lack of experience in commanding a battalion-sized unit.”

“Therefore, after careful consideration, we have decided… to shorten your vacation.”

Morin’s heart sank with a bad feeling.

“Six days from now, you will report to the Saxon War College to attend a three-month intensive assault training course.”

“The purpose is to allow you to quickly master all the knowledge and abilities required to command a battalion-sized unit.”

(End of this Chapter)