Trenches, Guns, and Magic

Cleric Cristiano naturally understood Morin's thoughts; the latter clearly didn't want to stick his neck out.

After all, he was an "Imperial Warrior," yet people kept calling him "Kingslayer"... It was indeed a bit too much of a cursed joke.

In this regard, the Holy See could naturally engage in some "positive propaganda" to offset it.

Although the Papal State couldn't compete with other major powers in overall national strength, its religious influence over the believers on the Europa continent was in a league of its own.

"You don't need to worry about this, Colonel Morin... Even if you didn't mention it, I believe the relevant departments in the Vatican would run some propaganda campaigns..."

Morin: "Oh? How so?"

Cleric Cristiano paused before continuing, "After all, looking at the results, this incident has a positive impact on the Holy See. It proves once again that areas bathed in the Lord's radiance will not tolerate the existence of dark forces!"

"And you, Colonel Morin, are excellent propaganda material. Even among the famous Paladins and Saints in Church history, very few have had... well, such condensed experiences as you."

"According to the briefing from your Army before we set out, you also encountered a Vukodlak in Serbia, which is another taboo modification project that violates ethics."

Cleric Cristiano's words were quite blunt. Simply put, it was akin to saying, "You're caught up in every single bust."

Combined with Morin's verifiable battle record, promoting him as a "Saint" to increase religious influence was naturally a perfect strategy.

"Perhaps this is the Lord's arrangement..."

Cleric Cristiano concluded, and Morin decisively halted the topic from extending further.

After everyone slowly relaxed, Morin finally found a gap to glance at the system interface.

Right before launching the final offensive against Ferdinand I, a new message had indeed popped up on the 【Intelligence】 page. The combat rhythm at that time simply hadn't allowed him the distraction to read it.

When he finally read the full message, his smile froze.

【The "Apostate" Angelo seized the heavily damaged "Heart" during the purification ritual and has now rendezvoused with the Holy Britannia Special Task Fleet.】

This was a massive disaster.

But Morin had weathered many storms. Combined with the acting skills he honed in this life, his expression only slipped for a split second.

To onlookers, it merely looked like Colonel Morin had spaced out staring at thin air.

Dismissing the system interface, Morin approached Cleric Cristiano, who was still assigning cleanup duties to the Paladins. He asked in a completely natural tone, "Your Excellency, there is something I'd like to confirm."

"Hmm? Go ahead."

"The Holy See's purification ritual for the heart... should be finished by now, right? Nothing went wrong, I hope?"

Cristiano turned his head, letting out a confused grunt.

"Why do you ask that all of a sudden, Colonel?"

"Force of habit." Morin shrugged, continuing casually. "It is Vlad III's heart, after all. It never hurts to double-check."

The cleric didn't overthink Morin's reasoning. Based on their interactions, Morin did seem like a cautious person.

After pondering for a moment, the cleric spoke again. "Ferdinand I clearly suffered a backlash while being encased in the fleshy tissue earlier. That's why his power plummeted... It proves the heart's activity was heavily suppressed. The purification ritual's effectiveness is beyond doubt!"

His tone carried utmost confidence.

"Moreover, the lineup for this purification ritual was stellar! Led by three senior bishops, including Bishop Angelo. He is even hailed as the most promising candidate to become the youngest Archbishop in history."

Morin almost lost his composure when he heard the name "Angelo."

The most promising candidate for the youngest Archbishop?

If nothing unexpected happened, this "most promising" candidate was currently clutching Vlad III's heart in a Britannian warship cabin, fleeing toward the Atlantic Ocean.

Morin pushed his expression management to the limit, merely giving a casual nod.

"That's good. But Your Excellency... it would still be best to find time to confirm it and close the book on this matter for good!"

"Hahahaha, Colonel Morin, you truly are a cautious man."

Cristiano smiled and shook his head, continuing, "But caution is a good thing. I'll send someone to contact the seal site shortly and report our situation as well."

Morin didn't press further.

The system intel indicated the heart was "heavily damaged"... This meant the purification had largely succeeded, and the heart was unlikely to recover to its full state.

However, the Britannians paid a massive price to steal it. They certainly weren't bringing it back to use as a decorative centerpiece.

Currently, only he possessed this intel, but he had no way to explain his source.

Pull a "divine revelation" act?

Morin couldn't gauge the risks. Who knew how others would react? He had to play it safe and keep it to himself for now.

Sigh, why is this cheat code such an inconvenient thing...

Meanwhile, unaware of Morin's internal monologues, Cleric Cristiano introduced another topic.

"Colonel, the most pressing matter right now isn't this... It's been about an hour and twenty minutes since we drank the Paradise Potion No. 3."

Prompted by the cleric, Morin recalled the side effects of Paradise Potion No. 3.

"Once the effect wears off, the duration of the weakened state varies from person to person... It can last up to 72 hours," the cleric warned. "So before we enter that weakened state, we'd better find a safe place to stay."

Morin reacted quickly, handing over on-site command to Ludwig and Klaus. He instructed them to handle the subsequent cleanup and secure the positions.

After sorting out the frontline matters, Morin hopped into an instruction unit truck alongside Cleric Cristiano.

Soon, the truck bumped along the rubble-filled streets toward the city outskirts. The route was littered with carbonizing vampire remains and slowly advancing Saxon infantry columns.

When some soldiers spotted the truck driving by and recognized Morin and the burly Church cleric inside, they waved and cheered.

Shortly after driving out of the city, Morin noticed the early symptoms kicking in.

A faint numbness crept up from his extremities. In the heat of battle, he would have easily ignored it.

But sitting quietly next to Cleric Cristiano, the sensation of his strength slowly draining away became glaringly obvious.

Leaning against the truck wall, the cleric looked noticeably paler than ten minutes ago.

"Looks like it's starting?" Morin asked.

"Mhm..." The cleric's reply was brief, but his vigorous tone had clearly weakened.

The two fell silent, quietly waiting for the truck to reach their destination.

About ten minutes later, the truck finally arrived at the temporary command post outside the city. Morin hopped out, told the cleric to go rest, and headed straight for the main tent where Lieutenant General Marwitz and Kleist were stationed.

Having received advance notice, Lieutenant General Marwitz and the others were already waiting outside. Kleist and his two companions rushed forward to greet him.

The instruction unit trio's expressions fell somewhere between "profound relief" and "Colonel, are you missing any parts?"

Lieutenant General Marwitz dropped his general's airs completely. He quickened his pace, nodding only after confirming Morin appeared uninjured.

"Good work, Colonel Morin..."

If Lieutenant General Marwitz had only heard of Morin's "illustrious military exploits" without really feeling them before, today he was thoroughly won over.

Morin's "lethality" toward the officers and soldiers of the Saxon Imperial Army was terrifying. The purer the soldier, the harder it was to resist his charisma.

"Your Excellency, Ferdinand I is confirmed killed. The vampire forces in the city have completely collapsed. The advancing troops are gradually taking full control of the city."

"I handed the cleanup over to Ludwig and Klaus. I'll provide a detailed combat report later."

Morin gave a brief report, outlining the battle and the current situation in the city. He then informed Lieutenant General Marwitz that he needed to rest. Naturally, Marwitz urged him to do so without a second word.

Once Lieutenant General Marwitz returned to the tent, the numbness spread from Morin's limbs to his torso. He pulled the "trio" aside and gave a few quick instructions.

"If a Paladin brings over a pitch-black longsword later, that's my war trophy. Keep it safe for me."

Kleist: "Yes, Colonel! Then you..."

"Right now, I need a shower, and then sleep... You're in charge of the troops for the time being."

With those final words, Morin headed for the logistics area without looking back.

The conditions were basic—just a temporary wash area enclosed by canvas, and the water wasn't particularly hot. But the moment the water hit his body, Morin let out a comfortable sigh.

Blood, dirt, charred tissue remnants, and countless layers of unidentifiable fluids washed down, dyeing the ground beneath his feet a complex hue.

Morin spent about seven or eight minutes scrubbing himself from head to toe. He changed into a clean uniform prepared by an orderly, then jogged back to his tent.

By the time he finished, his legs felt like jelly.

Clearly, the Paradise Potion No. 3 was in the final countdown to expiration.

Beating the final few-minute window, Morin hurried back into his tent.

The camp bed was just two steps away, laid with a thin blanket and a half-deflated pillow. God as his witness, nothing on earth held more appeal for Morin at this moment than that bed.

Without a hint of hesitation, Morin collapsed onto the camp bed, burying his face straight into the deflated pillow.

Dozens of seconds later, the steady sound of breathing filled the tent.

Outside, Manstein walked up to the entrance, peeked inside, and silently pulled his head back.

"Is the Colonel asleep?" Paulus asked quietly from behind.

"Yeah..." Manstein kept his voice low. "Like he got knocked out from behind with a club."

The two stood at the entrance, staring at each other for a moment.

"After this battle, the Colonel will probably need a good two days of rest. We're all exhausted, let alone him..."

Paulus muttered softly. Just as Manstein was about to speak, footsteps approached from the side.

The orderly on duty jogged over. Seeing the two officers, he snapped to attention and delivered a crisp salute.

"Sirs!"

"What is it? Keep your voice down!" Manstein hushed him.

"I came to guard the Colonel's tent... uh, and I just ran into Miss Schmeisser on the perimeter. She seems to be looking for the Colonel."

The orderly matched their low volume. "But Lieutenant Colonel Kleist gave strict orders not to let anyone disturb the Colonel, so the guards didn't let her in."

"Miss Schmeisser?"

Manstein paused, his brain spinning rapidly.

Helga had been testing weapons with her technical team on the frontlines these past few days. She wasn't far away.

With the battle for Bucharest over, she surely rushed over the second she got the news.

"Hm... Alright, go bring Miss Schmeisser over." Manstein waved the orderly off.

The orderly blinked twice, clearly confused.

"Bring her over? But the Colonel is resting. I can just stand guard here..."

"You?"

Paulus beat Manstein to the punch. He looked the orderly up and down, his tone laced with complaint.

"How are you going to take care of the Colonel with your clumsy hands? Remember a few days ago when the supplies finally arrived and the kitchen made the Colonel a pork knuckle, and you nearly dropped it?"

The orderly shrank back, lost for words. Under the officers' sharp glares, he turned and ran off.

Manstein watched him go and gave Paulus a thumbs up.

"I've gotta say, your reflexes are faster than mine when it comes to this..."

Paulus replied deadpan, "I'm just stating facts. He's an honest guy, but he really is clumsy. The kitchen complained to me about him several times..."

Before long, the orderly rushed back with Helga.

The girl had clearly changed into relatively clean overalls, her hair tied back hastily. When she reached the two officers, the anxiety on her face was impossible to hide.

"Lieutenant Colonel Manstein! Colonel Morin is—"

"Shh."

Manstein made a shushing gesture, then quickly explained the situation in a hushed voice.

"The Colonel isn't injured. Don't worry, Miss Schmeisser... Due to special circumstances, his body has temporarily entered a weakened state. He just needs a good long rest."

Helga uncurled her tightly clenched fists slightly.

"How long does he need to rest?"

"Hard to say. Maybe a day or two... Of course, with the Colonel's constitution, maybe he'll recover after a single nap~"

Manstein paused, adding, "Miss Helga, if you are willing, you could stay here and look after the Colonel."

He glanced at the tent behind him, then shot the orderly an exasperated look.

"When the Colonel wakes up, he'd definitely be much happier to see you first rather than that clumsy guy over there."

The tips of Helga's ears turned red, but her expression quickly reverted to its usual earnestness.

"Lieutenant Colonel, I have no problem staying, but... won't this cause trouble for you?"

She added another sentence.

"Allowing an outsider to stay in an officer's tent in a military camp... isn't that against regulations?"

"Please rest assured, it won't be a problem."

This time Paulus spoke up. He waved a hand, saying confidently, "Miss Helga, you are the head of the Schmeisser Company and a technical partner of the military. Your presence here doesn't require special approval anyway."

He delivered this reason completely deadpan, and it was indeed an airtight excuse.

Helga nodded, no longer hesitating, and hurried into the tent.

Manstein and Paulus exchanged a glance, then turned away with the orderly. After walking a dozen paces, Manstein waved over a nearby guard.

"No unauthorized personnel within fifty meters of the Colonel's tent... Divert anyone looking for the Colonel to Lieutenant Colonel Kleist, or Major Paulus and myself."

"Yes, sir!"

With everything settled, the two went their separate ways to handle their duties.

Meanwhile, as Helga lifted the flap and entered the dim tent, she instinctively lightened her footsteps.

Morin was still sprawled face-down on the camp bed, his face buried in the pancake-flat pillow, snoring away.

Helga lit a hurricane lantern, turned the brightness to the absolute minimum, dropped the flap to block the outside view, and crouched beside the bed.

This was her first time seeing Morin like this.

The clean uniform he had put on after his shower was bunched up from his sleeping posture, the collar buttons undone.

The color had drained from his face. His brows were furrowed, failing to unknit even in his sleep.

Helga had spent a lot of time around Morin, but she couldn't recall him ever truly stopping.

In her mind, the boss was always the one standing in front of everyone—energetic, capable of handling anything.

But right now, he just looked like an ordinary, utterly exhausted young man.

Helga reached out a hand, then pulled it back.

She wanted to roll Morin over so he'd be more comfortable... Sleeping face-down looked so uncomfortable, but she was afraid of waking him.

After hesitating for a while, she gently lifted his leg that was dangling off the edge back onto the bed and pulled the slipped blanket back over him.

That done, Helga found a folding chair in the corner of the tent, unfolded it beside the bed, and sat down.

Then she realized there was nothing else for her to do.

Morin slept peacefully, occasionally shifting his posture, rolling from his stomach to his side. His breathing remained steady.

Helga sat in the chair watching him, minute by minute.

Distant whistles and the rumble of radiant crystal truck engines occasionally drifted in, but the guards kept the noise far enough away.

The tent was quiet, filled only with the sound of their breathing.

About half an hour later, Helga let out her first yawn.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and blinked hard, trying to suppress the rising drowsiness.

Unfortunately, it was no use. The non-stop work these past few days had drained her energy.

Just as she told Morin, she really did bring her team here for serious business. The instruction unit had updated and swapped out equipment on the front lines, and Helga personally collected data and adjusted parameters for almost every model.

For three or four days straight, she barely slept.

In the field workshop, the roar of machinery and the technicians' constant questions kept her awake.

But now, surrounded by the quiet tent and Morin's steady breathing, the atmosphere was practically hypnotic.

Helga held on a little longer before her body unconsciously slumped forward.

She folded her arms and rested her head on the edge of the camp bed.

"Mmm... I'll just rest my head for a bit..."

But maintaining this posture for a few minutes made her neck incredibly sore.

The height of the folding chair didn't quite match the bed. The hunched posture, combined with the heavy burden on her chest, made her back ache.

She groggily lifted her head and looked at the camp bed. Morin was lying on his side, leaving some empty space behind him.

The Saxon Army's standard camp bed wasn't wide, but squeezing two people onto it... was barely doable.

Several thoughts flashed through Helga's mind:

Is this inappropriate?

But the boss wouldn't blame me, right?

After all, I'm just too exhausted, and it's all for helping the boss sell more weapons...

Plus, Lieutenant Colonel Manstein said there are guards outside, no one will come in~

After tossing the idea around three or four times, Helga bit her lip, kicked off her dusty boots, and lay down on the camp bed as lightly as possible.

The camp bed squeaked in protest under their combined weight. Helga froze for two or three seconds before turning her head to look at Morin.

Thankfully, he didn't wake up.

The girl breathed a quiet sigh of relief, then pulled a corner of the blanket over herself.

Morin's back was just a few centimeters away; she could feel his body heat.

For reasons she couldn't explain, this sensation made her entirely relax. The nerves that had been wound tight for days completely loosened at this moment.

Mhm! Just a ten-minute nap, then I'll get up and take care of the boss~

Thinking this, Helga fell into a deep sleep.

An unknown amount of time passed—maybe an hour, maybe several.

In her sleep, Helga vaguely felt something drape over her waist.

As she gradually woke up, she realized it was an arm holding her firmly.

Groggy, she tried to shift, but the arm tightened, pulling her back a few centimeters until her back pressed against a warm chest.

Then, a hand slid up her waistline. It moved with the precision of a radar, its destination clear.

Helga jolted wide awake, but she was a step too late; the hand had already begun "scaling the peak."

It wasn't long before the palm landed perfectly on the spot it shouldn't have, and with an incredibly natural motion...

Squeezed.

Helga froze. Realizing what was happening, her face burned red from her ears all the way down to her neck.

Although she felt no resistance in her heart, this situation was simply too intense for her.

Just as she planned to scramble up and avoid further embarrassment, the large hand began gently kneading in one direction, introducing Helga to a strange, unprecedented sensation.

Just then, Morin suddenly started mumbling. His warm breath brushed her ear, making her eyes glaze over.

But the next second, the words that reached her ears made the girl's eyes widen.

"Sister Cecilia, why does it feel like you've gotten a lot bigger?"