Chapter 21: Scumbags Are Everywhere in Every World

Morin’s gaze swept across the system map, the small, moving icons representing enemy patrols clearly visible in his field of vision. This unilateral advantage in information was their greatest reliance.

“No, we continue forward.” Morin made a decision that surprised everyone.

“Sir?!” Corporal Bowman’s voice was pitched high.

“Obey my command.” Morin’s voice was low but carried an unquestionable resolve. “We won’t take the main road. We’ll cut through the country lanes and woods, and approach the city outskirts to assess the situation again.” He pointed to the gaps between the patrol icons on the map, mentally charting a completely new route. “Everyone hide your bicycles. We proceed on foot. Remember, no sound whatsoever.”

The soldiers exchanged glances, but ultimately chose to obey. Led by Morin, the six-man team moved through the near suburbs of Seville like ghosts.

The closer they got to the city, the thicker the tension in the air became. Morin kept nearly all his focus on the minimap in his sight. Just then, several moving red rhombus icons suddenly flickered at the edge of the map.

[Royal Army Patrol (Size: 12 men)]

“Stop! Conceal yourselves!” Morin fiercely waved his hand, his voice extremely low.

Everyone immediately dropped into a nearby waist-high irrigation ditch. The ditch appeared to be long abandoned and overgrown with weeds, which now served to effectively conceal them. Half a minute later, a squad of lazy Royal Army soldiers, smoking cigarettes, walked along the path not far from their hiding place. They were complaining about something as they walked, completely oblivious to the danger so close at hand.

Only after the red dots moved further away on the map did Morin breathe a sigh of relief, signaling the men to continue.

The look in Corporal Bowman’s eyes toward Morin intensified with admiration. The Platoon Leader seemed to have a third eye, always anticipating danger in advance. What they didn’t know was that this seemingly miraculous foresight was simply ‘map-hacking’ for Morin, who had the system map. The enemy’s movements were virtually transparent to him.

Relying on this information advantage, they successfully bypassed several patrol squads without incident, successfully infiltrating the outskirts of Seville.

As they cautiously slipped into the outermost residential area of Seville, the scene before them gave Morin a whole new understanding of the depths of this army’s depravity. On the streets, Royal Army soldiers were lounging against walls in small groups, basking in the sun. Some swaggered into roadside cafes, ‘taking’ coffee and pastries from the terrified owners without paying a cent. In a nearby corner, several soldiers were gathered playing cards, shouting loudly. This was hardly an army facing a major battle; they were a bunch of bandits occupying a city!

And then, a far more egregious scene unfolded. Four men in expensive-looking officer uniforms laughed as they forcefully pulled three young women passing by, ignoring their screams and resistance, dragging them into a nearby two-story building that seemed to have been requisitioned. The surrounding soldiers acted as if this was normal, some whistling and guffawing. When the girls’ families and some angry citizens rushed forward to protest, the soldiers immediately raised their rifles. The dark muzzles were pointed at their own unarmed countrymen, pinning them down outside.

This scene deeply shocked Morin, who came from a peaceful era. He found it difficult to associate these violent, lawless thugs who preyed on the weak, and even pointed guns at their own people, with the word ‘army.’ The only thing he could relate them to was the dark era of his homeland in the other world—the warlords and reactionary armies might have looked like this.

Amid his fury, a daring thought arose in his mind. These officers, so full of themselves, were a breakthrough point delivered right to his doorstep. He noticed that while the soldiers blocked the civilians, none dared to approach the two-story building. Clearly, they didn’t want to disturb their superiors’ ‘delight.’ This meant the building was a relatively isolated and safe target.

A cold glint flashed in Morin’s eyes. How could someone who has seen the light tolerate darkness?

He gestured to Corporal Bowman and the others behind him, pointing toward the rear of the small building. Everyone instantly understood. They silently skirted the street, using the cover of the buildings, and quickly arrived at the back courtyard of the small house. As Morin expected, there was no guard here. The courtyard wall was low, and they easily climbed over.

In the back courtyard, only a few hens were huddled against the wall, showing no reaction to Morin and his uninvited guests, as if acquiescing to the environment. The screams of the young women and the loud, arrogant laughter of the men coming from upstairs fueled the rage in Corporal Bowman and the others, and simultaneously provided the best cover for their actions.

Morin signaled everyone to sling their rifles behind them. He adjusted the sling of his Gew.98 rifle to be as short as possible, pressing the weapon tightly against his back, and held it with his hand to minimize clanking and noise during movement. The nearly 1.3-meter rifle was an accurate killing tool in open ground, but in this narrow, indoor environment, it was a hindrance.

The others immediately followed suit.

“Bayonets!” Morin ordered in a whisper.

“Shhh—”

A few faint sounds of metal scraping echoed as the six men, including Morin, drew their S1898 bayonets from their waist scabbards. The standard bayonet of the Saxon Empire Army was over half a meter long. It was less a knife and more a short sword, gleaming coldly in the dim light. Morin knew clearly that since this world had not yet been scarred by trench warfare, the development of edged weapons for ordinary soldiers was essentially stagnant. Before the advent of specialized fighting knives and military daggers, this was the best weapon they could use for close-quarters combat indoors.

He led the way to the back door of the building, finding it merely ajar. He gently pushed it open a crack, listened for a moment, and, confirming the ground floor was clear, slipped inside first. A mix of alcohol and cologne smells hit them.

They crept to the stairs leading to the second floor. The sounds upstairs were louder now.

“Why are you struggling? Back in the north, country bumpkins like you wouldn’t even be allowed on a gentleman like me’s bed!”

“It is an honor for you to serve a few of us. You should be grateful!”

“We’re risking our lives fighting those rebels and the Saxons for you. You should be dutifully serving us well!”

Listen to that. Are those the words of human beings?

(End of Chapter 21)