Trenches, Guns, and Magic

"They agreed that readily? I thought it would take some persuading, considering we just breached their capital."

Morin picked up the water cup on the table, took a large gulp, and gestured for Manstein to sit on the folding chair across from him.

"It was indeed quite straightforward, though I can understand their reasoning."

Manstein sat down and continued, "Colonel, you should have seen the expressions on the faces of the representatives they sent when they entered the city... When they first made contact with our men outside the city, they postured as if they were ready to fight us to the death..."

"And the result?"

Morin, having finished his water, picked up his fork again, skewered a piece of pan-fried fish, and popped it into his mouth.

"The result is that I took them to see the situation inside the city, and everything naturally fell into place..."

Manstein spread his hands. "Ashes everywhere, and those carbonized remains of flesh and blood we hadn't had time to clear away... I didn't even need to waste my breath. I directly arranged for a few surviving civilians and the accompanying clerics from the Papal State to give them a 'combat report'."

Morin chewed the fish, the scene forming in his mind.

"Those civilians recounted exactly what happened in the city, from start to finish—including how so many monsters suddenly appeared, and how those vampires charging out of the royal palace attacked the civilians... At first, those representatives were stiff-necked and refused to believe it, loudly denouncing it as a Saxon conspiracy and lies."

"Until the Holy See's people stepped forward?" Morin prompted.

"Exactly."

Manstein slapped his thigh, a beaming expression on his face, as if he had just watched a great play.

"The Holy See clerics simply threw those silver crucifixes, still stained with black blood, right in their faces, along with those severed limbs that looked anything but human... The representatives' faces went stark white instantly. By the end, they couldn't utter a single word; they were all just standing there trembling."

Morin chuckled softly, using his knife to slice open the last half of the pork knuckle. "So they just went with the flow, stated they would report to their evacuated government, and agreed to a ceasefire?"

Manstein: "Yes, Colonel. Though in my opinion, it was merely an excuse to give themselves a way out to save face."

Morin nodded, naturally understanding Manstein's implication.

Because these reinforcements, having rushed back from the frontlines in the Kingdom of Bulgaria, after suffering consecutive offensive failures and then being ambushed by the "Thunder Warriors'" airdrop, practically possessed no remaining capability to launch an attack on Bucharest.

"Since they're willing to take the out, we'll give it to them."

Satiated, Morin set down his knife and fork and grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth.

"Looking at it this way, our Kampfgruppe finally gets a period to rest and reorganize... There shouldn't be any more large-scale combat in Bucharest in the short term."

Manstein nodded in agreement.

"The troops definitely need to rest. Our ammunition expenditure was massive. And while the battle wasn't excessively long, the intensity was far too high compared to normal engagements. The soldiers' physical and mental stamina is entirely depleted."

"Major Paulus and I have already instructed the logistics department to begin inventorying supplies, and we've ordered the companies to rest in shifts."

"Well done, Erich." Morin leaned back in his chair, feeling the void in his stomach finally mostly filled. "Any other updates?"

"Regarding the details of this battle, we dispatched a comprehensive telegram to the Fifth Army Command and the General Staff at our last scheduled transmission time."

Manstein opened his file again, reading from its contents as he answered, "Including the mutation of King Ferdinand I of Romania and the process of his elimination."

Hearing this, Morin didn't say much. He stood up and rolled his shoulders, his joints popping crisply.

"Then we'll stay put and wait for news from the Fifth Army and the General Staff."

He walked to the tent entrance, then turned back and waved to Manstein.

"Come on, take a walk outside with me to help digest."

The two men stepped out of the tent. The night breeze outside Bucharest still carried a faint, mixed scent of gunpowder smoke and scorched biomass.

Morin and Manstein strolled along the perimeter of the temporary camp. After checking on the current state of the troops, Morin casually asked, "Erich, what's your take on the upcoming situation in the Balkans?"

"Lieutenant Colonel Kleist, Lieutenant General Marwitz, and I actually discussed this very topic this afternoon... We unanimously believe the Empire's high command's next move should be attempting to contact the leadership of the Kingdom of Romania."

"The objective?"

"To persuade them to withdraw from this war," Manstein answered cleanly.

"The King of Romania is dead, their capital is ruined, and we've halted their frontline army... Under these circumstances, continuing the fight is meaningless for them."

Morin thought about it; it was indeed true.

The Kingdom of Romania was never a military powerhouse to begin with. Their audacity to meddle in the Balkan chessboard was largely due to the backing and instigation of countries like Britannia and Serbia.

Now that their king was dead and their capital reduced to ruins, continuing the war would only drag the country further toward collapse...

Morin remembered that in the world before his transmigration, the Romanians were attacked by Austro-German forces in August 1916 and lost their capital by December.

Their only remaining territory was Moldavia in the northeast, barely held together with the support of the remnants of the Russian Imperial Army reinforcements.

Their subsequent actions were a textbook example of a small nation's signature "picking a side."

After their biggest backer, Tsarist Russia, collapsed from within, the isolated and helpless Romanians withdrew from the war in May 1918.

But then, on November 10, 1918—the day before the Second Reich's armistice—they re-entered the war. Ultimately, they miraculously secured the status of a "victorious nation" and legitimately participated in the post-war division of spoils.

As for the world Morin was currently in... well, the speed at which their "pain" ended was significantly faster.

"Add to that the Fifth Army commanded by His Highness the Crown Prince..."

Manstein continued, pulling Morin's thoughts back.

"Once the Fifth Army takes the Belgrade fortress complexes, the Kingdom of Serbia won't be able to hold out either."

"Erich, it seems you are very confident about the war situation in Belgrade?" Morin asked in return.

"Extremely confident. A professional officer must dare to make judgments!"

Manstein's tone carried the definitive judgment of a career officer assessing the battlefield situation.

"The combat effectiveness of the Fifth Army is vastly superior to the Austro-Hungarian army that previously stumbled in Serbia, not to mention they have the support of armored trains... Those Serbian fortresses can only withstand conventional artillery; they'll crumble before the armored trains!"

Morin agreed with this point, having witnessed firsthand the destructive power of an armored train in "siege mode."

At this point in the conversation, Morin began sketching the overall situation in the Balkans in his mind.

Once the armed forces of the Kingdom of Serbia were dismantled, the overall situation in the Balkan Peninsula should stabilize.

The remaining small Balkan nations were of no concern. The only one with some strength, the Ottoman Empire, couldn't easily intervene by land due to geographical limitations.

Theoretically, as long as the Saxon Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire could help the Kingdom of Bulgaria hold their defensive lines and repel the Ottoman attacks, it would be very difficult for them to reach into the Balkans...

Furthermore, the three-nation combined fleet intercepting the Britannian Mediterranean Fleet in the Mediterranean made him even more confident about the prospects in the Balkans.

If the combined fleet could heavily damage the Mediterranean Fleet in that naval battle, the Britannians would gradually lose control over the Mediterranean.

By then, even if they wanted to deploy ground troops to the Balkans via the sea route—as they did in World War I in his original world—it would be highly unlikely they could pull it off.

Relying solely on the allied forces of the Balkan nations themselves? Morin didn't believe those "chicken feed" armies could make any real waves.

Even if they hid some "black magic" trump cards like Ferdinand I, with the overall strategic balance already tipped, the end of the war in the Balkans was only a matter of time.

After all, the output of steel and gunpowder far exceeded the trump cards those "artisanal workshops" could produce.

Overall, everything was moving in a direction favorable to the Saxon Empire...

As they spoke, they had arrived at an outer perimeter guard position dug according to operational standards.

Aside from a few sentries, soldiers were crouching in the trench, resting in groups of two or three against sandbags, their weapons close at hand.

Seeing Morin approach, several soldiers immediately stood up.

Morin waved his hand, signaling them to sit back down and rest.

He and Manstein stepped into an observation area within the trench and looked out. The urban area of Bucharest looked utterly devastated in the night; once-bustling streets were now riddled with craters and rubble.

"It will probably take years to rebuild this place," Morin sighed.

"That's for the big shots above to worry about," Manstein stood beside him. "A soldier's mission is to destroy the enemy's will to resist, and we have accomplished that."

Morin remained noncommittal to this statement.

The night breeze blew past. He looked up at the sky. The dark clouds had dispersed, and dense clusters of stars twinkled in the night sky devoid of light pollution—as if the people who died in this war were trying to say something.

Morning, June 11th.

Outside Belgrade, the capital of the Kingdom of Greater Serbia. Command Post of the Fifth Army, Saxon Imperial Army.

Major General Nobelsdorff, the Chief of Staff, hurried across the camp, clutching a telegram he had just retrieved from the communications room.

He lifted the flap of Crown Prince Georg's tent, unable to suppress the excitement on his face.

"Your Highness, news from Bucharest."

Crown Prince Georg, currently studying the latest reconnaissance photos of the Belgrade outer fortress complexes at the map table, looked up upon hearing his Chief of Staff's voice.

"The battle is over?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

Nobelsdorff handed over the telegram as he spoke.

"A combat report sent by the joint command of 'Kampfgruppe Morin' and the 48th Corps led by Lieutenant General Marwitz...

"...Bucharest is fully under control. The vampire threat within the city is completely eliminated, and the returning forces of the Kingdom of Romania have agreed to a ceasefire."

Georg took the telegram, his eyes rapidly scanning the text.

When he read the line "Bucharest, capital of the Kingdom of Romania, has fallen," the Crown Prince tapped the table lightly with his finger three times.

This was a small habit of his when excited, well-known to those who had been around him a long time.

"Excellent..." Georg murmured.

He then turned to Nobelsdorff, a smile playing on his lips.

"I never expected Sir Friedrich to beat me to the punch and become a 'Conqueror' first."

Nobelsdorff also showed a rare hint of a smile.

"Colonel Morin has indeed achieved an incredible result. To take a nation's capital with the strength of a Kampfgruppe, coordinating with elements of a Corps-level unit, using a rapid assault... this was unthinkable before."

"Judging from the telegram's contents, there's more to it~"

Georg's gaze swept over the telegram continuously as he added, "The main force of the 48th Corps was actually tying down the Romanian reinforcements on the perimeter. The core force that actually breached the urban area of Bucharest and eradicated the vampires must have been Friedrich's instruction unit and the people from the Holy See."

He placed the telegram on the table, holding the paper down with his fingers, his eyes continuing to scan downwards.

Then his expression changed.

"Ferdinand I... killed in battle?"

Georg's finger stopped tapping the table. He stared down at the description of Ferdinand I in the telegram.

"King Ferdinand I of Romania was the core figure in the Bucharest vampire incident and had completed vampire transformation himself... During the joint operation, he was killed by Cleric Cristiano of the Papal State and Colonel Morin, commander of this unit."

The wording appeared very rigorous.

But the more rigorous the wording, the more it indicated the author of the report was deliberately avoiding certain things.

Crown Prince Georg's mind began to race.

Back when the Kingdom of Romania needed a royal candidate acceptable to the major powers, Albert II had pushed Ferdinand I forward.

In correspondence between the royal families, Ferdinand I referred to Albert II as "Cousin."

Now, this "cousin" had been killed by the combined forces of the Empire's army and the Holy See.

And based on their prolonged interactions, Crown Prince Georg knew Morin was a very cautious and measured man.

After becoming a rising star in the army, the Crown Prince knew many factions within the Empire had secretly attempted to contact Morin. However, they were all shut out; in other words, they never even got to see Morin face-to-face.

Morin was exactly as he himself had once said—the soldiers of the Empire are very simple, and he personally exemplified this.

This was also one of the reasons Crown Prince Georg valued Morin so highly.

Therefore, he knew very well that Morin would definitely not arbitrarily kill an enemy head of state... especially when this head of state had blood ties to the Saxon Empire's royal family.

"Ferdinand I had completed vampire transformation..." Georg chewed on this sentence repeatedly in his mind.

Previously, due to the urgency of the battle and limited communication conditions, information transmission between the Fifth Army and Kampfgruppe Morin had been incomplete.

Georg only knew that vampires had appeared on a massive scale within Bucharest. But the specific details... such as what exact role Ferdinand I himself played in it, remained unconfirmed.

Now it seemed, it was highly likely the worst-case scenario.

Thinking of this, Georg's brows furrowed tightly.

"Your Highness?" Nobelsdorff called out softly.

Georg snapped back from his thoughts. He sat up straight again, folded the telegram, and placed it on the table.

"That Friedrich..."

He sighed, his tone tinged with a bit of helplessness.

"Always managing to pull some new 'surprises' on me."

Chief of Staff Nobelsdorff offered a rare quip, "Your Highness, I'm afraid this time the 'shock' outweighs the 'surprise'... I imagine the expressions of the Empire's high command will be even more colorful when they hear of this."

Georg paused at this, then burst out laughing.

"Good heavens, Sir Schmidt... You've actually learned how to joke~"

After laughing, the Crown Prince's expression quickly returned to seriousness.

"Sir Schmidt, I need you to do a few things."

The Chief of Staff immediately straightened his back.

"First, maintain contact with the joint command of 'Kampfgruppe Morin' and the 48th Corps. During the next scheduled transmission, have them send a more detailed report."

"Second..."

Georg paused, his gaze turning exceptionally earnest.

"I want to know their attitude regarding the fact that 'Ferdinand I was killed in battle'. Have any special statements been disseminated within the military or to the outside world? Or have any control measures been taken?"

Nobelsdorff nodded; he understood the deeper meaning behind the Crown Prince's question.

Killing a king—even if that king had turned into a vampire... was an extremely sensitive political matter in this abstract world.

How the frontline commanders viewed this event, and how they articulated it externally, would directly influence subsequent public opinion and diplomatic handling.

"I will make a point to ask these questions during the next transmission," the Chief of Staff said.

"Good." Georg turned back to the map table. "Then let's continue discussing Belgrade... Are the armored trains in position?"

"They have arrived at their designated positions and deployed."

Nobelsdorff nodded, continuing, "The 'Gungnir' main gun of the 'Odin III' armored train has completed calibration and is ready to launch an attack on the Belgrade outer fortress complexes at any time."

"Good, then we proceed according to the original plan." Georg tapped his finger on Belgrade's location on the map.

"At 0400 hours tomorrow morning, launch the general offensive."

0300 hours, June 12th.

Outside Belgrade, at one of the assault staging areas for the attacking forces.

Crown Prince Georg, protected by a dozen or so men from the General's Guard, appeared in this trench.

Because he had come to the absolute front line, he wore a standard field gray uniform today, devoid of any medals or insignia indicating his status. The only thing that might give away his identity was perhaps the General's Guard trailing behind him.

Chief of Staff Nobelsdorff followed, his face screaming disapproval.

Before setting out, he had expressed his opposition to the Crown Prince... and not just him; other senior officers of the Fifth Army had also tried to dissuade him.

The frontline trenches were one of the most dangerous places before a general offensive launched. Once the enemy's counter-battery fire began falling, no one could guarantee safety.

But Crown Prince Georg's stance was resolute.

"I may be the Army Commander, but I am a soldier first... What kind of soldier doesn't even dare to enter the frontline trench?"

"Think about why Sir Friedrich can make his instruction unit erupt with such terrifying combat effectiveness. Because he leads the charge from the very front every time!"

"I don't have his inhuman constitution, and I can't lead a charge with a rifle in hand... But I can at least stand here before the attack begins! Stand with my soldiers! This is a hundred times more effective than sending a hundred telegrams from a command post in the rear!"

Those were the Crown Prince's exact words before setting out.

And Nobelsdorff had no retort for that.

The combat effectiveness and cohesion of the instruction unit were top-tier within the entire Saxon Imperial Army, directly related to Morin leading by example.

While it was impossible for His Highness the Crown Prince to personally charge like Morin, going to the frontline trenches to meet the soldiers and boost morale was certainly doable...

The condition of the trench was much neater than the Crown Prince expected.

Following the trench passage forward, the trench walls on both sides were reinforced with logs, and camouflage netting was strung overhead at intervals.

Though the ground was a bit muddy, the drainage ditches were well-dug; at least they didn't have to wade through standing water.

And within this trench, the "Storm Assault Battalion" of an infantry division subordinate to the Fifth Army had already assembled and was standing by.

These elite assault troops would be the first wave to charge once the general offensive began.

The moment Georg stepped into the assembly area deep within the trench, he noticed the equipment of these Storm Assault Battalion soldiers.

It was completely different from the standard Saxon Imperial infantry in his impression.

These men wore specially designed chest rigs loaded with grenade pouches and spare magazines.

Every man had an entrenching tool or a shortened bayonet tucked into his belt. Their weapons were also varied—some carried light machine guns, some held submachine guns, and others carried dual Mauser military pistols or P08 pistols with drum magazines.

In short, their loadouts emphasized rapid, overwhelming, and lethal firepower.

Based on their equipment level and tactical concepts, they weren't much different from Morin's instruction unit. Once the armored trains cracked open the fortresses' turtle shells, they would also be the first wave to rush in, breach strongpoints, and clear obstacles.

Georg walked slowly forward along the trench.

In a slightly wider section of the trench ahead, several soldiers wearing silver crucifixes around their necks were weaving through the men.

They held copper bowls filled with holy water, using pine branches to sprinkle the holy water gently onto the heads of the soldiers about to march towards death.

"May the Lord bless you. May your bullets fly true, and may your courage be as hard as steel."

The low chanting of these "part-time clerics" echoed in the trench. The assault battalion soldiers bowed their heads and crossed themselves.

Such field masses were very common in the Saxon army, especially before a major battle that decided life and death; the power of religion could always provide the soldiers with a shred of psychological comfort.

Georg stopped and watched this scene quietly, without speaking to interrupt.

He didn't continue forward until the mass ended and these "part-time clerics" moved on to another section of the trench.

"Your Highness?"

The first person in the trench to notice Georg was a major, the commander of this Storm Assault Battalion. He was currently making his final inspection of the frontline trench.

This was another difference between assault units and regular infantry— the military commanders of these units spent a vastly higher proportion of their time in the frontline trenches.

This major clearly hadn't expected the head of the entire army group to appear in his unit's jump-off position. He froze for a moment, then immediately snapped to attention.

Though he didn't dare salute here...

"Your Highness! The 77th Infantry Division Storm Assault Battalion is fully assembled and awaiting the order to attack!"

"Relax, relax..." Georg waved his hand. "I'm just here to take a look."

The news spread quickly.

"His Highness the Crown Prince is here!"

The previously quiet, waiting trench suddenly stirred. Soldiers craned their necks to look in his direction.

Georg didn't stand there waiting for them to come to him; he took the initiative and walked over.

He stopped in front of the nearest row of stormtroopers, his gaze sweeping over these young faces illuminated by the hurricane lanterns hanging in the trench.

Then he reached out and, very naturally, helped adjust the gear of a soldier standing before him.

"You should tighten this chest rig. If it's too loose, it'll bounce around and hit you when you charge."

The soldier opened his mouth as if to say "Yes, sir," but was too nervous to speak. He ultimately could only nod vigorously twice.