Chapter 235: Only the Last Link is Missing

At the edge of South Amiens, a relatively intact municipal building was temporarily requisitioned as the joint command post. Mackensen, Ludendorff, and the Generals of various Corps and the Assault Battle Group gathered together. On the huge map temporarily hung on the wall, the blue arrows representing the Saxon Army had completely clamped down on the red markers representing the Britannian forces.

“Generals, the Battle of Amiens appears largely decided!” a staff officer reported with high spirits: “Based on the enemy movements we currently track, the Britannian Expeditionary Force Commander should have led the Expeditionary Force Headquarters and some remnants in a breakout to the south last night.”

“However, a considerable number of troops are still cornered by our forces inside the city. According to the observations from the Armored Airships in the sky, these units are also in the process of attempting to break out.”

“Very good. Inform all units not to completely surround them; our objective is not the destruction of this Expeditionary Force.” General Mackensen nodded, his aging face showing little emotion, but his satisfaction was clear in his eyes.

“In addition…” The staff officer paused, a hint of excitement in his tone. “Regarding the massive explosion that occurred near the railway bridge in the South City yesterday, we have confirmed that Captain Friedrich Morin, Commander of the Imperial Guards First Instruction Assault Battalion, personally planned and executed the operation.”

“He used himself as bait, successfully lured four Britannian Highland Mages into a trap, and completely annihilated them all!”

At this statement, the command post erupted in astonishment. The Generals present gasped, exchanging looks of disbelief. One Captain planned an operation and eliminated four Britannian Spellcasters? It sounded like fiction! Mages, especially High-level Mages, were strategic deterrents on the battlefield. Yet, this Captain Morin had wiped out four such valuable deterrents in one stroke?

General Ludendorff’s eyelid twitched as he looked toward General Mackensen, noticing the old General gently stroking his mustache, a faint, undeniable smile playing on his lips.

“That little lunatic, he’s like a different person after going to war,” Mackensen murmured to himself. A complex emotion, a mixture of pride, admiration, and trepidation, surged in his heart. He knew Morin was audacious, but he never thought he would play such a dangerous game—and play it so beautifully. The notorious playboy of Dresden had grown to a point where he surprised even the General.

“Since the overall situation is settled, the next phase of the battle will be ‘cleanup time.’” General Ludendorff, as the direct superior of the Instruction Assault Battalion, cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Relieve the Instruction Assault Battalion now. They have been fighting on the front line since the start of the campaign and have suffered significant casualties. It is time for them to rest.”

The Generals present nodded in agreement. The Instruction Assault Battalion, that sharp dagger, had completed its most crucial mission of breaking the deadlock. The subsequent mop-up work did not require them to be further exhausted.

Soon, an order was relayed to Morin. “Battalion Commander, Army Group Command has ordered you to report to the temporary headquarters immediately.” A Dispatch Rider breathlessly ran up to Morin.

Morin was prone on a rooftop, observing the enemy position through his binoculars. He frowned reluctantly upon hearing the command. “Understood.” He temporarily handed command over to Kleist, then limped toward the rear, surrounded by his personal guard platoon.

When Morin walked into the Command Post, which was a converted municipal hall, all the Generals’ eyes instantly focused on him. They saw a young Captain covered in gunpowder smoke, his uniform stained with dust and blood. He looked pale, and his gait was awkward, clearly indicating he had been wounded.

General Ludendorff immediately noticed the stiffness in his waist, frowned, and quickly strode forward. “Captain Morin, I hear you are wounded in the waist?”

“Reporting, General, a minor injury, nothing serious.” Morin straightened his back, but the pain from the stitching made him wince.

“Nonsense!” Ludendorff’s face darkened. “I spoke with Captain Schneider. He said you lost a lot of blood and passed out on the airship! Is that a minor injury? Are you taking us old men for fools?” He knew the connection Morin had with Mackensen and how much the Crown Prince cherished this Captain. If anything happened to such a talented individual under his command, those two would seize the opportunity to have him court-martialed. Moreover, from Ludendorff’s own perspective, the loss of such a once-in-a-century military genius would be an immense loss to the entire Empire.

“General, I am truly fine. I can still fight!” Morin insisted. The most difficult period was over. They were about to enter the phase of mopping up and collecting spoils, and now they wanted to pull him out?

“Enough! Obey the order, Captain Morin!” A low but commanding voice, filled with absolute authority, instantly silenced the entire headquarters. General Mackensen slowly walked out from behind the other officers. He did not look at Morin, but addressed the two ‘Plate Armor Supermen’ at the door: “Escort Captain Morin to the rear Field Hospital. If he resists, tie him up.” His voice was calm but left no room for appeal.

Morin opened his mouth, but looking at the emotionless face of the old General, he swallowed all his protests. He knew that when General Mackensen gave an order in that tone, there was absolutely no room for negotiation.

“Yes, General!” Two tall General’s Guard soldiers stepped forward and ‘escorted’ Morin on either side.

“Also, send word: the Imperial Guards First Instruction Assault Battalion is to immediately cease combat and retreat to the North City for rest!” Mackensen added.

And so, under the amused and admiring gaze of the room full of Generals, one of the stars of the Battle of Amiens, Captain Friedrich Morin, was ‘forcibly’ escorted out of the headquarters.

Kleist and Manstein let out long sighs of relief as they watched Morin’s reluctant figure being dragged away. Finally, they could get their lunatic Battalion Commander to rest for a while.

The Saxon Empire’s Field Hospital was set up in a requisitioned farmhouse on the outskirts of North Amiens. The air was thick with the disinfectant smell of Lysol and the faint groans of the wounded, a stark contrast to the deafening artillery fire of the front line.

Morin was assigned to an officer’s medical tent. Lying on the field cot, watching a clearly newly conscripted young nurse use scissors to cut open the bandage on his waist to change the dressing, he finally felt a moment of retrospective fear. The wound, cut by a bullet or shrapnel, was not deep, but it was long and jagged, and the edges of the skin already showed signs of inflammation.

“It was good you were brought in quickly,” the nurse said gently, unskillfully cleaning the wound with an alcohol swab: “If you had waited two more days, and that wound became severely infected, it would have been serious trouble.”

After the dressing was changed, Morin had just lain down when the curtain to the adjacent cot was pulled back. A man, wrapped in bandages with only one eye showing, was lying on the cot, grinning at him.

“Well, well, isn’t this Captain Morin, the great hero who launched the massive explosion and killed four Mages? What’s this, you got wounded too?”

Morin smiled when he saw the man. The figure, wrapped up like a mummy, was none other than Ludwig, who had been slammed into a wall by Master Albert’s [Bigby’s Hand] along with his Armored Knight. The two unfortunate friends, who had walked through the gates of hell, smiled at each other. Ludwig eagerly inquired about the battle after he was knocked unconscious. Morin lightly recounted how he used Magic Crystal Bombs to ‘persuade’ the four Highland Mages.

The conversation between the two was filled with dark humor, fascinating the wounded soldiers in the other cots, who temporarily forgot their pain. Soon, Kleist, Manstein, and the four Company Commanders—Steiner, Klaus, Wolff, and Jonas—arrived at the tent.

“Battalion Commander, you finally get to rest!” Wolff, the reckless one, loudly exclaimed as he entered, a hint of shame on his face. Wolff had gained a bit of notoriety after being called out over the loudspeaker by Morin on the battlefield yesterday.

“You have the nerve to say that? Once my wound is healed, I’m putting you through extra training!” Morin shook his head impatiently, then spoke to the others: “All of you, keep a close watch on the unit while I’m out. Don’t let anything go wrong.”

“Rest assured, Battalion Commander!” Kleist quickly said: “Everyone is settled, and the wounded have been sent to the Field Hospital. Just concentrate on your recovery; we have the unit covered!”

Looking at the familiar and concerned faces, a warm feeling surged through Morin’s heart. He knew these men genuinely cared about him. He was content to hand over command and finally take a break.

After seeing off his visiting subordinates, the tent fell quiet again. This sudden leisure gave Morin’s brain, which had been operating at high speed since he crossed over, time to finally settle and think. He lay on the cot, closing his eyes, his mind replaying the battles since his arrival like a fast-forwarded film. From the initial encounter to the airborne assault on the Liège Fortress, and then the bloody Street Fighting in Amiens.

He realized that although he had achieved a series of victories through his superior tactical thinking and the ‘cheat’ provided by the system, the fundamental nature of warfare had not changed. Ordinary infantry were still using WWI-era weapons to fight against Armored Knights and Spellcasters far beyond that technological level.

But was this truly the limit? Morin didn’t think so.

His thoughts turned to the spoils he had captured. The Gallic Enchantment Technology proved that the power of magic was not exclusive to Spellcasters. It could be solidified onto objects and utilized by ordinary people. The existence of the Magic Crystal Cannons, Magic Crystal Bombs, and the detonator device also showed him the possibility of infantry countering heavily armored units. If this technology could be miniaturized and popularized, every infantry squad would possess the capital to challenge Armored Knights!

Then there was the [Enchant Weapon] spell he had used on the MG14 Light Machine Gun in the heat of the moment yesterday. In those brief minutes, the enchanted machine gun rounds inflicted significant damage on the Mages’ protective spells. This made him realize that the combination of magic and technology could unleash far greater power than either could alone.

What if… what if every soldier’s standard weapon could be mass-enchanted? Even with just the most basic effect, the increase in infantry combat power would be revolutionary! Bold ideas continuously collided and merged in Morin’s mind. He could almost see the future battlefield: Assault Squads equipped with enchanted rifles and carrying small Magic Crystal Armor-Piercing Rounds maneuvering through urban ruins. They would no longer fear sturdy barricades or enemy Armored Knights. They would even be capable of fighting against isolated low-level Spellcasters with combined-arms tactics.

This was not a fantasy! This was a new elite force, positioned between common infantry and expensive Armored Knights! Their cost would be far lower than Armored Knights, and their training cycle shorter, yet they could achieve combat effectiveness far exceeding conventional infantry. Moreover, infantry, the most ancient branch of service, would always be an indispensable part of the battlefield.

This was the power that could truly change the course of the war! Morin grew more excited the more he thought about it; he almost leaped out of bed. He felt he had grasped the key to unlocking the future of warfare. Weapons, tactics, organization… he had constructed a preliminary framework for everything in his mind.

However, just as his excitement peaked, the most fundamental and insoluble problem hit him like a bucket of cold water. Whether using magical items or maximizing the effect of enchanted weapons, there was one essential prerequisite: the user must possess a certain level of Magic Affinity. It was like an unpowered light bulb; no matter how good the wiring or switch, it wouldn’t illuminate without electricity. The vast majority of ordinary people had almost no magic within them, let alone ‘Magic Affinity.’ In the Saxon Empire, this specialized knowledge was monopolized by Spellcasters.

He could design the finest enchanted weapons and the most advanced tactics… But if he couldn’t find enough ‘Magic Affinity’ soldiers, everything would remain theoretical.

How to solve this problem? Morin fell into deep thought. This question stood like an insurmountable wall on his path to the future.

Morin opened his eyes, staring blankly at the gray ceiling of the tent. Outside, the soldiers’ loud singing before their meal filled the air, vibrant and energetic. He suddenly realized that his next goal might no longer be just to win a battle. It might be to find a method—a way to make the ordinary soldiers of this world no longer ordinary.

“How… how can ordinary soldiers be given ‘Magic Affinity’ in large quantities?”

(End of this Chapter)