Trenches, Guns, and Magic

Hearing Cecilia's words, Luna quickly caught on and listed several newspapers that had deep cooperative relationships with Falkenstein United Industries.

"Dresden Morning Post, Imperial Industry Weekly, and the Saxon Financial Times... These three are our primary media partners."

"They have received massive sponsorships from us over the past few years and frequently run positive promotional coverage for United Industries. We also have fairly good personal relationships with their chief editors."

These newspapers all held considerable influence within the Saxon Empire, and each catered to a different demographic, covering everyone from ordinary citizens to the political and business elite.

Hearing this, Cecilia wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin, pulled her coffee closer, and continued, "Luna... send someone to contact the chief editors of these three newspapers today. No need to be too explicit; just gently guide their reporting."

"And the specific direction of the reporting?" Luna readied her pen to take notes.

Cecilia thought for a few seconds.

"Don't refute the 'Kingslayer' title directly. The more you refute it, the more it draws everyone's attention to it... Have them take a different angle."

"What angle?"

"The civilians of Bucharest."

Cecilia said, "Report the battle from the perspective of protecting civilians... emphasize the vampires' slaughter of the populace, emphasize that the Imperial soldiers and the Holy See reinforcements risked their lives to save the innocent people of Bucharest."

"As for the Romanian King who had already become a monster... just describing him as a 'tyrant who treated his own people as food' will suffice."

Luna quickly jotted this down, nodding to show she understood.

"Madam, I will have these arrangements implemented before this afternoon. However..."

She paused.

"Madam, are you worried that merely controlling public opinion won't be enough?"

Cecilia nodded, her slender fingers unconsciously tracing circles on the table.

"Of course it's not enough."

Her voice lowered.

"Luna, have you considered this... Who is behind the rapid spread of this 'Kingslayer' rumor?"

Luna remained silent for a moment.

"Madam, are you suggesting... someone is deliberately targeting Young Master Morin?"

"Not just targeting..." Cecilia shook her head. "It's more of a probe."

"A probe?"

"His influence within the military is growing, Luna."

Cecilia leaned back in her chair, her gaze deepening.

"Especially among the rank-and-file soldiers... You must have read those reports. The young Junker nobles, particularly the officers in the Storm Assault Battalions, idolize him."

"For a colonel in his early twenties, this is highly irregular."

"And this irregularity has undoubtedly disrupted the plans of certain factions."

Luna put down her notebook and pen. Having followed Cecilia for years, she knew exactly how broad the scope of "certain factions" could be.

She also had a rough idea of who Cecilia was referring to.

"Madam, do you mean those Ashke—"

Cecilia raised a hand, stopping Luna from continuing.

"Don't say it out loud... This is all just my speculation. I have no hard evidence."

"I only noticed some discrepancies while managing his domestic assets."

"Someone is secretly investigating the specific structure of the assets under Friedrich's name. For instance, attempts have been made to infiltrate certain cooperative suppliers of Schmeisser, Demag, and others... The methods are very covert. If I hadn't been personally overseeing things for him and keeping a close eye, I wouldn't have even noticed."

Luna fell silent for a while, her fingers rubbing back and forth across her pen.

"Madam, following this line of thought..."

She chose her words carefully, speaking much slower than usual.

"The Empire's high command, especially the royal family and the Army brass, have been vigorously promoting Colonel Morin's exploits—from the public interview at the Semperoper to the military constantly fast-tracking his promotions... Does this indicate they've realized something too?"

"Precisely~"

Cecilia nodded, validating her head maid's deduction.

"Our Emperor, at least for now, appears very clear-headed. He is actively tying Friedrich to the royal chariot, which is a method of protection in itself."

"But I worry that it won't hold up against people constantly whispering in his ear."

Cecilia stirred her coffee with a small silver spoon, creating a faint, continuous clinking sound.

"If someone uses this ridiculous 'Kingslayer' excuse to exert influence, it might mean nothing to ordinary Imperial nobles... but it's different for the Emperor."

"'Kingslayer'... This word is a thorn in the heart of anyone sitting on a throne... Even if they completely understand the decisions made on the battlefield intellectually, subconsciously, that uncomfortable feeling cannot be erased."

"That's why my first reaction upon hearing the news was to guide public opinion."

"Not to cover anything up, but to ensure the general public sentiment swings in Friedrich's favor, so those trying to make a fuss have no populist anger to exploit."

At this point, Cecilia suddenly paused.

She lifted her teacup, took a sip, and let out a soft sigh.

"Luna, tell me... do you think that guy Friedrich... anticipated this day would come?"

"Hmm? What do you mean, Madam?"

"Back when we were together, he suddenly talked to me a lot about public opinion manipulation—things like 'crisis PR' and 'information hedging'... At the time, I wondered why he suddenly took an interest in such things."

"Looking back, could he have been preparing for this even then?"

Hearing this, Luna chuckled softly and shook her head.

"Madam, Young Master Morin has indeed changed a lot since joining the military... He's not only become more mature, but he also has many strange new ideas in his head."

"Is that so..."

The corners of Cecilia's lips curled up slightly.

"It seems General Mackensen made the right call having him attend the military academy and join the Imperial Army."

"If he had stayed by my side managing businesses, he might have become a very outstanding merchant... but that would be the extent of it. The military truly gave him a grander stage."

Luna stood nearby, listening quietly to her madam's musings without interrupting.

After a while, Cecilia's mood returned to normal.

"Luna, for now, we will only intervene in public opinion. Hold off on any other actions."

The head of United Industries set down her teacup, her eyes turning sharp again. She quoted an ancient piece of wisdom from the distant East that Morin had once taught her.

"As Friedrich says... 'If the enemy doesn't move, I don't move; if the enemy moves, I move first'~"

Luna was taken aback for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"Let's go. Get ready to head out; we can't be late for today's meeting."

With that, Cecilia strode out of the dining room, the hem of her skirt flashing past the corner.

Luna closed her notebook and hurried after her.

That same day.

The Grand Palace of Dresden, the Emperor's private study.

A thick stack of documents and reports sat before Albert II. These reports had actually arrived at his desk yesterday, and he had read through them overnight.

From the Mediterranean to the Balkan Peninsula, from Bucharest to Belgrade, the series of victories the Empire had achieved over the past half-month were all condensed within these pages.

For the Emperor of the Saxon Empire, these reports contained both good and bad news... though if one were to tally it up, the good clearly outweighed the bad.

First, the three-nation combined fleet, under Admiral Spee's command, had practically crippled the Britannian Mediterranean Fleet.

The enemy lost nearly all their pre-dreadnoughts and one battlecruiser in the direct engagement. The surviving vessels that luckily escaped were ambushed by U-boats on their way back to Malta Port.

The only combat-capable capital ship left in the entire Britannian Mediterranean Fleet was the super-dreadnought Queen Elizabeth.

Under these circumstances, no matter how powerful a single warship was, it couldn't change the overall situation.

Furthermore, the Imperial Navy's U-boat wolfpacks were still prowling the perimeter of Malta Port, waiting to deliver a fatal underwater strike. This forced the super-dreadnought to stay holed up in port...

Then there was Belgrade. The combat report, personally written by Crown Prince Georg, was concise—as crisp and clean as the man himself.

Fourteen radiant crystal reaction shells obliterated the outer fortress complexes the Serbians had spent years fortifying, followed by a total infantry breakthrough in an hour and a half.

The urban area of Belgrade didn't resist for long either. After the Fifth Army captured the outer perimeter, the city garrison chose to surrender, abandoning any plans for urban combat with the Fifth Army.

Albert II wasn't surprised by this outcome.

In his view, the moment the "Odin III" armored train was in position, Belgrade's fate was sealed; taking it was only a matter of time.

What truly demanded more of his thought was the report from Bucharest.

Specifically, the death of King Ferdinand I of Romania...

Albert II had to admit that when he first read the news in the report, he was stunned for nearly half a minute.

Not out of anger or regret, but mostly out of surprise.

In his impression, Ferdinand I was a mild-mannered, even somewhat cowardly man.

Back when they were selecting candidates for the Romanian throne, Albert II had privately remarked that the only reason this distant relative was suited to be King was that he was obedient enough to accept the Empire's remote control...

Yet this very person chose to turn his coat shortly after the war broke out, actively joining the Balkan allied forces to fight against the Empire.

And now, to defend his capital and fight the Imperial Army to the bitter end, he chose to dabble in black magic at the final hour?

Albert II still couldn't fully wrap his head around it...

But regardless of his lack of understanding, issues had to be dealt with.

The speed at which the title "Kingslayer" spread among the Empire's upper echelons made Albert II very uncomfortable.

Not because of the title itself—

In his view, Morin killing an enemy head of state who had become a vampire on the battlefield was a standard military operation.

The problem was that people were using this incident to stir up trouble...

Albert II was no fool.

He could feel an invisible hand behind this, deliberately accelerating the spread of this label.

The goal was simple: to plant the word "Kingslayer" as a seed of doubt in his heart.

"Heh..."

Albert II closed the report and leaned back in his chair.

They wanted to drive a wedge between the Emperor and his sharpest blade?

A nice thought, but poorly timed... The war was raging, and the Empire needed Morin, this blade, to continue hacking through thorns on the front lines.

At a critical juncture like this, Albert II would not make any move that might shake military morale.

Clearly, the Emperor and the Crown Prince were of the same mind on this matter.

Therefore, he had already issued a verbal edict yesterday— members of the royal family were forbidden to discuss the "Kingslayer" incident in any public or private setting, and the Empire's propaganda department was to strengthen public opinion control.

The "Hero of the Empire" must not be pushed into opposition against the royal family!

At least, not right now...

Just as Albert II closed his eyes to rest for a moment, a soft knock came at the study door.

"Enter."

The Chief Equerry pushed the door open, his posture ramrod straight.

"Your Majesty, Admiral Tirpitz and Chief of Naval Staff Vice Admiral Hötzendorf request an audience."

Albert II opened his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

Tirpitz... the architect of the High Seas Fleet generally didn't seek him out without a reason, unless he had some grand plan awaiting approval.

"Let them in."

A moment later, the two senior naval commanders entered the study.

Albert II noticed Tirpitz looked exceptionally energized today, his trademark bushy beard immaculately groomed.

And this state usually meant he had another new idea.

"Your Majesty..."

After bowing to Albert II, Tirpitz and Hötzendorf walked straight to the other side of the desk.

Dispensing with pleasantries and preamble, Tirpitz got straight to the point.

"We are here regarding Malta Port."

Albert II raised his chin, signaling him to continue.

"The Britannian Mediterranean Fleet has been crippled. This is the perfect opportunity to capture the Malta naval port and completely secure control over the Mediterranean."

Tirpitz's voice carried the unique steadiness of older generation Imperial military men, but beneath that steadiness, an unconcealable excitement bled through.

"If we can take Malta, the Imperial Navy will establish a permanent forward base in the Mediterranean! The Britannians' supply lines to their North African colonies will be completely severed, and all their strategic interests in the Mediterranean will vanish like soap bubbles."

Albert II didn't immediately state his position. Instead, he reached out and rummaged through the pile of documents on his desk. Usually, the Emperor disliked others organizing his desk.

Because it meant he wouldn't be able to find the various documents he arranged according to his own peculiar logic...

Soon, Albert II found the document he was looking for: an assessment report on the offensive and defensive posture of Malta Port submitted by the Naval Staff over two months ago.

"Sir Alfred..." Albert II used Tirpitz's given name, not uncommon in their private interactions.

"Your Navy's previous report states very clearly that massive minefields are deployed around Malta Port, the port itself possesses Britannian magical defense units, and the coastal defense batteries have undergone modernization..."

"The report's conclusion was: a direct assault would be too costly; it is not recommended to target Malta in the short term."

Albert II pushed the report across the desk.

"Why the change of heart now?"

Though slightly embarrassed, Tirpitz didn't back down.

"Your Majesty, the conditions were indeed lacking before... but the situation is different now."

He took a half-step forward, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Having lost their mobile fleet, the remaining ships of the Britannian Mediterranean Fleet can only cower in port, and this satisfies the conditions for a different kind of operation..."

Albert II: "Oh? A different kind of operation?"

"Yes, Your Majesty... What inspired me was the special operation Colonel Morin executed in Budapest."

The "Black Ops" in Budapest indeed held special significance. Relevant records had recently been made available to certain high-ranking military officials, and Albert II immediately realized what Tirpitz was planning.

"You mean, sending an elite squad to infiltrate the port interior?"

"Precisely!"

Tirpitz answered crisply. "Malta Port's defense system is indeed formidable, but its design logic is to defend against a large-scale fleet attack from the sea."

"If we can dispatch an elite special squad to infiltrate the port via an underwater or other covert route, destroying the core nodes of the minefields and coastal magical defense units along the way... followed by a fleet assault, we could drastically reduce casualties."

Albert II remained silent for a few seconds, his fingers tapping silently on the desk twice. He realized this line of thought was indeed sound.

The Budapest operation proved the feasibility of elite squad infiltration tactics, and Colonel Morin had indeed managed to destroy critical nodes at minimal cost. But the problem was...

"Sir Alfred, your idea is good, but the problem is that Colonel Morin and his instruction unit, including those 'Thunder Warriors,' are currently fighting in the Kingdom of Romania."

Albert II looked seriously at Tirpitz and continued, "They just survived a gruelling siege in Bucharest and suffered significant casualties. I'm afraid it will be very difficult to redeploy them for another high-intensity special operations mission in the short term."

Tirpitz nodded, seemingly anticipating the Emperor's question.

"Your Majesty, you are correct! I thought the same... Therefore, before formulating this plan, I specifically consulted with the Army General Staff."

A mysterious smile appeared on the Grand Admiral's face.

"The Army informed me of something: Aside from the 'Thunder Warrior' squad attached to the instruction unit, the Empire actually possesses another 'Thunder Warrior' unit ready for immediate deployment."

Albert II raised an eyebrow, instantly realizing who Tirpitz meant.

"You mean... the other six?"

From the original "Thunder Warrior" modification experiment, aside from Klaus and the others who returned to the instruction unit, there were indeed six survivors from other units.

These six individuals were ultimately incorporated directly by the General Staff, forming a special strike squad under the direct command of the Army's highest echelon, and had been undergoing relevant combat training.

Albert II rapidly weighed the pros and cons in his mind.

Deploying this "Thunder Warrior" squad, supported by a group of elite soldiers, to execute the Malta Port infiltration mission was indeed a viable plan.

This was exactly the intended purpose of the Empire's "Thunder Warrior" project.

Most importantly, utilizing them wouldn't interfere with the rest and redeployment of Morin and the instruction unit on the frontlines...

After a moment of thought, Albert II finally made his decision.

"Sir Alfred, this plan of yours... I believe it's worth a try."

"Continue refining this proposal. Produce a specific, actionable operational plan as quickly as possible."

"Simultaneously, I will personally coordinate with the Army General Staff to ensure their cooperation with your operation."

Over the next few days, the front pages of all major newspapers in the Saxon Empire were dominated by a series of inspiring combat reports.

Dresden Morning Post proclaimed in bold black font:

["IMPERIAL LIONS CAPTURE BELGRADE; A TURNING POINT IN THE BALKANS!"]

Imperial Industry Weekly analyzed from another angle, placing it on the front page:

["GREAT VICTORY IN THE MEDITERRANEAN! COMBINED FLEET CRIPPLES ROYAL NAVY; MEDITERRANEAN LIFELINE SECURE!"]

Saxon Financial Times offered an optimistic assessment:

["VICTORIES ON THREE FRONTS; THE DAWN OF TRIUMPH APPEARS; POST-WAR ECONOMIC RECOVERY IMMINENT!"]

The fall of Bucharest, the capture of Belgrade, and the epic victory in the Mediterranean naval battle—these three consecutive major victories acted like a shot of adrenaline, massively boosting the morale of the Empire's populace.

Citizens in many cities even poured into the streets, waving the Saxon Empire's yellow-background Black Eagle flags. Victory parades were seen everywhere.

If Morin, currently on the front lines, saw this, he would naturally consider "popping champagne at halftime" inadvisable...

But from another perspective, the various troubles brought by the war in the short term—rising prices, material shortages—seemed temporarily diluted by the joy of victory.

However, while the mainstream media sang praises and glorified the achievements, some niche newspapers with smaller circulations and more radical styles chose a different path...

They focused their attention on a highly controversial event during the Battle of Bucharest.

A tabloid named Voice of Truth ran a highly inflammatory headline on its front page:

["EUROPA'S MOST DANGEROUS MAN: FRIEDRICH VON MORIN!"]

The article utilized every rhetorical device to paint Morin as a cold-blooded warmonger wielding supernatural power.

It heavily emphasized his act of "personally killing a nation's monarch," implying this action had shattered the rules of aristocratic warfare maintained on the Europa continent for centuries.

Another commentary weekly named The Alarm Bell ran an even more sensational headline:

["THE KINGSLAYER IS BORN IN THE BALKANS! THE EMPIRE'S GLORY, OR A FUTURE THREAT?"]

The accompanying illustration was an exaggerated caricature: an Imperial soldier bearing no resemblance to Morin held a sword in one hand and a dripping, bloody crown in the other, standing atop the flaming ruins of a city.

Another newspaper had a relatively "mild" headline, but the text was equally full of insinuations and guidance:

["THE EMPIRE'S DOUBLE-EDGED SWORD? HOW SHOULD WE VIEW COLONEL MORIN'S SHOCKING ACT?"]

These newspapers generally held little influence, catering mostly to citizens who enjoyed sensational news or marginalized groups dissatisfied with the current order.

Using these exaggerated headlines and embellished contents, they successfully sparked a degree of discussion and controversy among the populace. In Dresden's taverns, factory break rooms, and even universities... whispers about whether Colonel Morin was a "Kingslayer" began to circulate quietly.

Some argued that since Ferdinand I had become a vampire, he was a public enemy of humanity, making Colonel Morin's act heroic.

Others worried, feeling that an Imperial officer killing an enemy monarch, regardless of the reason, was extremely dangerous.

They believed it set a terrible precedent, making war even more brutal and devoid of bottom lines...

Still others leaned into conspiracy theories, speculating that Colonel Morin's achievements overshadowed his superiors, and this act might arouse the royal family's suspicion.

However, these fringe voices ultimately remained insignificant noise against the powerful propaganda offensive of the Empire's official media.

Under the dual guidance of Cecilia's heavy hand and the royal family, the mainstream public opinion remained firmly entrenched in molding Morin into the perfect "Hero of the Empire."

His exploits were repeatedly extolled, his image printed on various propaganda posters, his stories turned into songs sung by children.

To the vast majority of the Saxon Empire's citizens, Colonel Morin remained the invincible, outstanding young officer who brought glory to the Empire. Yet, in the corners of Dresden unseen by ordinary people, an undercurrent was quietly surging.

In the eastern district of Dresden, on a quiet street named "Pine Marten Lane."

The street was lined with plane trees on both sides, appearing exceptionally serene after nightfall.

Deep in the alley, soft light glowed from a three-story stone building.

From the outside, it looked like a wealthy merchant's private club or literary salon.

But all the windows of this building featured thickened glass, shielded on the inside by velvet curtains—a common setup in high-end venues in the Imperial Capital that prioritized privacy.

At this moment, in a large hall on the second floor of the building, over a dozen impeccably dressed middle-aged men sat around an oval mahogany table.

Cigar smoke slowly rose beneath the brass chandelier overhead. The waiters had all been dismissed from the room.

Anyone familiar with Dresden's political and aristocratic circles would be astonished to see these faces.

Because among those present were not only key members of the Imperial Diet (Reichstag) but also titans from the Empire's financial sector... especially the banking industry.

Two other individuals, though wearing civilian clothes, couldn't hide their military bearing in their posture and mannerisms.

The remaining few were even more low-profile, but their very presence indicated the exclusivity of this gathering. These immensely wealthy individuals, long retreated from the public eye, had been secretly maintaining the existence of this group.

Judging by the state of the ashtrays, the meeting had been going on for some time.

Newspaper clippings were scattered across the table—all reports regarding Morin from various publishers over the past few days.

"You've all seen it."

The man sitting at the head of the oval table spoke first. He was in his early fifties, his hair slicked back neatly, with high cheekbones that gave him a shrewd look.

"The royal family's reaction was much more rational than I anticipated."

This banker, named Joseph, picked up a wine glass from the table and swirled it twice.

"I originally thought the rapid spread of the 'Kingslayer' label would at least sow some seeds of doubt about this young man in Albert II's mind."

"But from the current situation, not only does the royal family show no signs of suspicion, they are actively cooling the matter down."

At the other end of the table, an Imperial Diet member with a somewhat gloomy face picked up the conversation.

"This shows Albert II has his own judgment on this matter. He hasn't been led by us."

"At least, not currently," Joseph corrected the phrasing. "But it doesn't matter..."

He set down his wine glass and interlaced his fingers on the table.

"Gentlemen, our goal was never to expect one public opinion offensive to change everything. Since the seed has been planted this time, that is enough~"

"The word 'Kingslayer' doesn't require an immediate reaction from Albert II."

"It just needs to stay there, hammered in like a nail."

"One day... perhaps in a few months, perhaps in a year or two... when our Colonel Morin does something that displeases the Emperor, this nail will serve its purpose."

Those present nodded in agreement.

This group was clearly composed of veterans at scheming in the shadows. None expected a single move to yield immediate results; playing the long game was their specialty.

Joseph was about to continue when a Diet member sitting in the middle of the table suddenly spoke up.

This man, Franz Weber, hailed from the Imperial Diet's Finance Committee. Backing him were several old-money new-bourgeois Junkers who held vast lands and industries in the Empire's eastern provinces.

"Lord Joseph, I have a thought."

Joseph looked up at him.

"Speak, my friend~"

Weber put down his cigar and leaned forward slightly.

"I believe that aside from these covert maneuvers, we should attempt direct contact with Morin once more when he returns to the homeland."

The atmosphere at the table shifted subtly, but Weber didn't pause, continuing to elaborate on his idea.

"Consider this, gentlemen— this Colonel Morin has military merit, prestige, and his own industries... Such a person, in any era, is a target all factions wish to court."

"The royal family is courting him, the Army high command is courting him... but just like when we tried to make contact before, he has always maintained an evasive posture, rejecting all attempts at private communication."

"And your point is?" Joseph asked.

"My point is, our previous methods of contact were flawed."

Noticing the expressions on the others' faces, Weber paused before continuing, "Our previous approaches were too eager... or rather, too blatant. Sending a few fixers with bribes to a young, promising officer—of course he's going to ignore you."

"But what if we change our approach?"

"What approach?"

Weber smiled.

"Understand him first... Understand his preferences, his needs, what he cares about... then approach him in a way he finds acceptable!"

"We don't need him to join us, nor do we need him to declare a stance."

"As long as we make him feel that we are his 'friends', that will be enough."

Joseph pondered for a moment, then slowly nodded.

"This proposal does have merit. From what I know, this Colonel Morin seems to have a weakness for women..."

A burst of knowing laughter erupted from the group. Joseph scanned the room.

"But to execute this, we first need sufficient intelligence... Currently, we know far too little about Morin the man."

"His behavioral style on the frontlines, his preferences in his private life, the key figures in his social circle... we don't have enough of a grasp on these things."

"More importantly, this man's political leanings remain a mystery to this day. The only certainty is that he isn't one of those damn communists..."

At this point, an elderly man sitting in the corner, who rarely spoke, finally broke his silence.

"I will take charge of this. I have a few old friends I can talk to who might be able to provide intelligence in this area..."

Joseph nodded.

"Good. For the foreseeable future, we will maintain our current rhythm in the shadows. Do not escalate, but do not pull back either."

"When Morin returns... we will make our next move."

Kingdom of Bulgaria, twenty kilometers outside the capital, Sofia.

A hastily constructed defensive line snaked through the rolling hills like an ugly scar.

The trenches varied in depth, sandbags were piled haphazardly, and the barbed wire was strung sparsely.

But this was the last stand of the Kingdom of Bulgaria.

When the expeditionary force of the Kingdom of Greece finally breached the heavily fortified Dupnitsa-Rila Mountain line at the cost of massive casualties, they thought victory was within reach.

In fact, the Kingdom of Bulgaria's domestic propaganda had claimed exactly that: the Rila Mountains were the final barrier defending the capital.

So the Greeks naturally assumed the ensuing battle would be a breeze. They would drive straight in, capture Sofia, completely shatter the Bulgarians' will to resist, and present their King with a glorious military triumph.

But they never imagined that at this most critical juncture, the distant Saxons, like gods descending from the heavens, would launch an inconceivable rapid assault straight to the gates of their ally, the Kingdom of Romania's capital.

This news instantly threw the Romanian expeditionary forces—who had planned to victoriously link up with the Greeks beneath the walls of Sofia—into disarray.

They began frantically withdrawing troops from the Bulgarian front lines to reinforce their own imperiled capital.

To the Greeks, it was as if someone had snuck a stool under the Bulgarian's feet just as they were about to hang the poor bastard.

And even more unexpected developments followed...

While both sides were attacking each other's capitals, the Saxons, as if performing a magic trick, captured Bucharest at the speed of light and dealt a fatal blow to the Kingdom of Romania in an incredibly brutal manner.

Although the specific details were vague, rumors from the frontlines suggested the Romanian King had somehow gotten involved with legendary vampires and was ultimately slain personally by a young Saxon officer inside his palace.

This shocking news, regardless of its veracity, completely destroyed the morale of the Romanian troops fighting in Bulgaria.

For the armies of the Balkan nations, it was exceedingly difficult to continue fighting in a foreign land when their own capital had fallen...

The sudden collapse of their ally gave the Bulgarians, who had been struggling on the brink of annihilation, an unexpected shot of adrenaline.

Like a miracle, they constructed another defensive line just twenty kilometers from their capital using flesh, blood, and broken weapons.

Although this defensive line—whether in terms of troop strength, firepower deployment, or fortification integrity—couldn't compare to the previous Rila Mountain line,

The morale boost it brought to the desperate Bulgarians was invaluable.

Equally frustrated were the "Baron" Rowan Atkinson and his squad of Spell Jägers assisting the Greeks in Bulgaria.

They had just completed a raid on a Bulgarian position and were dragging their exhausted bodies back from the front lines to their temporary camp to rest.

Walking on the muddy dirt road, a Spell Jägers codenamed "Old Man" approached Rowan Atkinson and lowered his voice.

"Baron, sir, have you noticed that the Bulgarian soldiers in the opposing trenches are getting younger and younger?"

Rowan Atkinson nodded. As a perceptive spellcaster, he had noticed this long ago.

"I noticed it too. That machine gun nest we took out earlier... the kid operating the heavy machine gun looked fifteen or sixteen at most... the rifle beside him, with the bayonet fixed, was almost taller than he was."

Hearing this, "Old Man'" expression grew heavier.

"Does this mean the Bulgarians are running out of manpower? They've started sending children to the battlefield."

"Yes. Their able-bodied men have likely been depleted in the previous battles."

Rowan Atkinson nodded in agreement, but his expression didn't relax in the slightest.

"But precisely because of this, it means the Bulgarians have entered the final stage of total mobilization... Under these circumstances, their will to fight will likely be unprecedentedly high. Every single person will fight us with the determination to die."

He glanced at the Greeks' sloppy camp in the distance and couldn't help but shake his head.

"Given the combat effectiveness the Greeks are currently displaying... whether they can actually push into Sofia has become an unknown."

Mentioning the Greeks darkened "Old Man'" face.

For veteran Spell Jägers like them, breaking through the Bulgarians' defensive line wasn't actually that difficult.

The problem was, their Greek allies requested their support far too often.

Often, a battalion-level attack would be pinned down before the trenches by a single enemy heavy machine gun offering supporting fire.

Then, the Greek commanders would cry for their mothers, begging the Spell Jägers for support.

Initially, Rowan Atkinson agreed to these requests, hoping his Spell Jägers could gain more practical combat experience. He frequently led the teams himself, tearing through the Bulgarian defensive lines like a sharp knife.

But as time went on, the commander codenamed "Baron" gradually realized something was wrong.