Trenches, Guns, and Magic

As the officer who had fought under Boss Morin the earliest and had basically been with him for the entire campaign up to this point, Klaus's impression on Morin was that of a standard "Saxon tough guy."

He followed orders strictly, fought fiercely, and never compromised on completing a mission.

Among all the officers and soldiers of the instruction unit, if Morin had to choose the person he trusted the most, Klaus would even rank ahead of Kleist, Manstein, and the others, firmly holding the top spot.

Moreover, setting aside their superior-subordinate relationship, their personal relationship wasn't bad either. While still in the homeland, Morin had taken quite good care of this capable assistant.

Therefore, he also knew very well that when it came to anything involving children, this macho man would carry some additional emotional baggage.

This was primarily because Klaus had three children.

The oldest was nearing the current conscription age for the Saxon Empire.

While resting in Bucharest, Klaus had complained privately to Morin more than once that his three brats were causing him endless worry, all of them eager to join the Imperial Army.

"What do they think war is? A heroic saga sung in an opera house?"

That night, sitting by the campfire in the temporary camp, Klaus had downed half a flask of hard liquor and began muttering about his troublesome kids.

"The letter from home said the oldest wants to test into a military academy. While that's indeed a very good path given our family background, if I go back, I'll definitely have to give him a good thrashing..."

Morin had merely smiled and listened without replying.

Because he knew full well that the "thrashing" Klaus spoke of was more out of helplessness.

Of course, the bigger reason was that the Army Ministry's current conscription propaganda largely stemmed from Morin's previous "clever ideas."

And those attracted children had no idea that the many "Imperial War Heroes" they idolized were walking a tightrope in every single battle.

So, at certain specific moments, Klaus also harbored considerable resentment toward this war.

And this was actually perfectly normal within the instruction unit.

In the entire instruction unit, regarding who complained the most about this war... If Morin claimed to be second, no one would dare claim first.

He was the one who charged the fiercest, killed the most, and had the highest KDA in combat, and he was also the one who cursed the war the harshest afterward. This was no secret.

Even though the inspectors from the Army's censorship department in every jointly operating unit had quite a few complaints about this initially, as Morin's battle record skyrocketed, they could only remain "complainers."

Who would actually dare touch an "Imperial War Hero" with maxed-out stats?

At this moment, Klaus and Morin stood side-by-side at the edge of the landing zone, watching the young officers busily directing the citizens to evacuate in an orderly manner.

Boys no older than eighteen were shouting orders at the top of their lungs, some of their voices still carrying the hoarseness typical of puberty.

Morin said nothing.

Klaus said nothing either.

But in his peripheral vision, Morin could see Klaus gripping his fists tightly, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

This silence lasted for about two or three minutes before Klaus finally spoke up, his voice much lower than usual.

"Commander."

"Hmm?"

"My oldest is seventeen this year."

Morin turned his head to look at him.

Klaus's gaze fell on a child soldier helping to direct the citizens not far away; the boy looked to be about that age.

"If we weren't in the Empire, if we weren't fighting a 'winning' war..."

Klaus swallowed the rest of his sentence and shook his head.

Morin patted his shoulder.

"That's why we have to win... The faster we win, the less need there is for these children to go to the battlefield."

Klaus fell silent for a few seconds, eventually looking at Morin with a resolute expression and nodding.

"Commander, just give the order... Leave the rest to us!"

Morin nodded. Just as he was about to say something else, hurried footsteps approached from another direction.

Both men turned their heads simultaneously.

A middle-aged man in a Bulgarian Army uniform was jogging over, followed by Commander Victor from earlier.

This was the first relatively older Bulgarian soldier Morin had seen since arriving in Sofia.

In his forties and rather lean, his uniform was worn neatly but clearly hadn't been properly maintained in a while. The contours of his face looked sharp under the lights of the landing zone.

Running up to Morin, the man first took a few breaths to steady himself, then looked up, quickly glanced at Morin, and spoke in heavily accented Saxon.

"Are you Colonel Morin?"

"I am."

"Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov, Liaison Officer for the Bulgarian Ministry of War."

The other party extended his hand. When they shook hands, Morin could feel the liaison officer's grip was noticeably firm.

"I apologize for being late... But we are truly short-handed here in Sofia; we can't keep up with everything..."

As the man spoke, Morin quickly observed his condition: sunken eye sockets, a beard unshaven for days, and several blisters on the corners of his mouth. It was highly likely he hadn't rested properly in quite some time.

"Given your current situation... I understand."

Morin released his hand. Although he had already gotten a general understanding of the situation from Commander Victor, he randomly picked a question to start a conversation.

"Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov, are you short-handed because you're preparing to evacuate the capital?"

Ivanov smiled bitterly and shook his head.

"Besieged on three sides, where else can we evacuate to?"

"We are short-handed because the Ministry of War and the General Staff have pulled too many people to replace officer casualties on the front lines... Even a large number of staff officers from the operations department have been sent to the front."

Hearing this, Morin had a pretty good idea of the situation.

The Kingdom of Bulgaria's officer replacement system was completely overdrawn. Even the core personnel of key rear departments were being thrown into the front lines.

This also explained why Crown Prince Georg had sent a telegram indicating an "extreme emergency," urging Morin to bring men to stabilize the situation quickly. Any later, and these Bulgarians probably wouldn't have survived to see reinforcements.

"Colonel, please come with me."

Ivanov gestured toward the urban area.

"There are two officers from the Saxon Empire's military assistance mission still at the Ministry of War, and His Majesty will also be coming over shortly... Someone will explain the relevant situation to you in detail there."

Morin looked back at Klaus.

"Klaus, stay here with the men and keep an eye on things. Ensure the construction of the landing platform is completed. Meanwhile, have everyone grab some rest while maintaining combat readiness... Be prepared to move out at a moment's notice."

"Understood, Commander!"

Klaus turned and walked back crisply.

Morin followed Ivanov's footsteps, with Commander Victor trailing behind.

After taking a dozen steps, Ivanov paused, turned his head, and said something to Victor in Bulgarian... The gist of it was to have him go back and continue maintaining order at the site.

Victor snapped to attention with a response, saluted the two men, then turned and ran off.

Watching the young officer's back disappear into the crowd, Ivanov sighed.

"Good kid... Unfortunately born in this era."

Morin also nodded, sighing in agreement, "Yes, but these situational issues are never something we small folk can decide..."

When the two reached the edge of the clearing, two horses were already waiting there, with an old man holding a lantern watching over them.

Ivanov mounted, and Morin followed suit.

"Most areas in the city have no lighting. Be careful on the road, Colonel."

Ivanov took the lantern from the old man and handed one to Morin.

"Sofia's reserves of radiant crystals and other fuels have hit rock bottom. All electricity has been concentrated at the landing zone; we simply can't spare any for other areas."

"It's fine. Just lead the way, Lieutenant Colonel. My night vision is pretty good~"

Morin wasn't bragging. The visual performance of his modified body in low-light environments, even without activating 【Darkvision】, was vastly superior to a normal person's.

The two spurred their horses forward. The hooves struck the cobblestone street with crisp sounds, amplified several times in the empty, nocturnal streets.

The entire city was so quiet it didn't feel like a nation's capital at all. Occasionally, patrolling Citizen Defense Force members carrying torches passed by, stopping to make way when they saw two mounted officers.

Taking advantage of the travel time, Morin spurred his horse to ride parallel with Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov, steering the conversation toward the front lines.

"Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov, the intelligence I received mentioned Britannian mage units at the front... It's highly likely they are the same enemies I encountered on the Western Front previously, so I'd like to confirm the specific situation with you."

"Well..."

Ivanov turned his head slightly on his horse, looking somewhat troubled.

"To be honest, Colonel, my role in the rear is more about maintaining the operations of various departments. The information I receive on a daily basis is limited."

"But what I can tell you is that the front lines have indeed reported numerous instances of encountering mage attacks."

"And those mages are not quite like the ones we're used to."

Morin tightened his reins, leaning in closer.

"How are they different?"

"They aren't traditional mages. They don't cast spells from the rear, nor do they fly over the positions, carpet bomb, and fly away. Instead, they frequently launch attacks alongside the Greek infantry..."

"Furthermore..." Ivanov paused, "they specifically target our combat mages."

Although the 【Intelligence】 had provided a few tidbits earlier, it wasn't until Morin heard this firsthand that he completely confirmed these were indeed the Spell Jägers.

Having been screwed over by blindly trusting the system before, he had to be a bit more vigilant.

And based on Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov's description, this group's tactical style hadn't changed at all; it was exactly the same as what he encountered on the Western Front.

"Then how many of your combat mages... are still left on the front lines?"

Ivanov was silent for a few seconds.

"They're basically wiped out. The remaining two combat mages have retreated behind the defensive lines and are not deployed unless absolutely necessary..."

This sentence felt exceptionally heavy amidst the swaying light of the lantern.

"In the casualty reports sent back from the front lines recently, all of our combat mages fell to attacks from this 'different mage unit'... Their methods are quite experienced; it's clearly organized, targeted hunting."

Morin didn't ask further; he basically understood the rest of the information.

Based on their previous encounters, the Spell Jägers seemed to be positioned as the Britannians' "Mage Killers."

Able to use both guns and spells, and working in tandem with another group of heavy armor warriors, they could indeed pose a significant threat to both conventional units and traditional mages.

At the very least, mages on the Saxon Empire's side like Master Haber and Master Röntgen, who weren't skilled in PvP, would be nothing more than free kills against the opposing Spell Jägers.

Perhaps the Bulgarian combat mages had slightly more PvP experience, but facing the Britannians, they were likely still doomed.

After crossing several streets, the horses stopped in front of an inconspicuous building.

Morin dismounted and looked up. It wasn't some grand Ministry of War building, but an ordinary urban warehouse that might have once been used to store grain or other supplies.

Four armed guards stood at the entrance. Two looked to be retired veterans based on their age, while the other two were teenagers.

Ivanov turned to Morin and explained.

"The original Ministry of War building was too large and conspicuous. After we became short-handed, we didn't need such a large office space anyway, so we just moved here... If the enemy reaches the outskirts of the capital and sends a mage unit to raid us, at least they won't find us immediately."

Morin nodded, feeling this consideration was sound. At least the Bulgarians were genuinely thinking about holding the capital rather than turning tail and running.

After Ivanov exchanged a few words with the guards, the two pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the warehouse.

The interior of the warehouse was much wider than it appeared from the outside.

Most of the wooden partitions originally used to separate storage areas had been removed, creating a space large enough to accommodate dozens of people working simultaneously.

Several long tables pushed together were piled high with documents and maps. In a corner sat a row of field telephones, their cables running out through the cracks in the windows.

Additionally, a small cubicle had been built from wooden planks, highly likely serving as the telegraph transceiver room.

The lighting in the entire warehouse relied solely on a few incandescent bulbs and numerous oil lamps. The Bulgarians had also hung many large white sheets around the perimeter to act as reflectors, barely bringing the warehouse's illumination up to working standards.

As Morin followed Ivanov inside, he immediately locked onto the large military map hanging in the most prominent position.

Two officers in Saxon Imperial Army uniforms stood in front of the map, backs to the door, arguing about something with three Bulgarian officers opposite them.

Although they weren't loud, their tone was clearly urgent, even bordering on hostile.

Morin perked up his ears and listened to a few sentences.

"The outer defensive line can hold out a little longer! As long as the reinforcements from our Fifth Army arrive and launch an attack, the entire situation can be reversed!"

This was Bulgarian spoken with an accent, clearly coming from the two Saxon officers.

The opposing Bulgarian officers immediately chimed in, talking over each other: "Hold out how? Major... We don't even know if our front lines can survive tomorrow... During the Greeks' last wave of attacks this afternoon, the right flank of the defensive line was almost pierced through. We had to throw in all the reserves just to plug it!"

"Right! That was the last reserve force. We have no available troops left in our hands now!"

At this point, another accented voice chimed in, sounding slightly younger.

"That's exactly why you cannot abandon the outer defensive line and retreat into the urban area... Once street fighting begins, your child soldiers and Citizen Defense Force will be slaughtered. You have no experience in street fighting, let alone the preparation for it!"

The Bulgarian officers fell silent for a few seconds, muttering something. Overall, the atmosphere seemed quite tense.

Seeing this, Ivanov coughed somewhat awkwardly at the door.

"Ahem... Gentlemen—"

Everyone turned their heads, and Morin stepped out from behind Ivanov.

He wasn't wearing a greatcoat in this season, but the standard uniform of the instruction unit. The eyes of the two Saxon officers landed on his uniform almost simultaneously.

Then, they looked up at Morin's face.

Ivanov continued, "This is Colonel Morin of the Saxon Empire... the commander of the reinforcements who just arrived in Sofia."

As soon as he finished speaking, the expressions of the two Saxon officers changed.

"So the commotion earlier was our armored airship?"

The older major standing on the left moved his lips twice, as if confirming he hadn't misheard.

The younger captain on the right simply froze in place.

Then, both men practically sprinted over simultaneously.

The older major arrived first, grabbing Morin's extended right hand and shaking it vigorously. His grip was so tight that Morin felt the man wanted to crush his fingers—though that was, of course, impossible.

"Finally... Finally, reinforcements are here!"

The major's voice choked up, clearly having suppressed his emotions for a long time.

The young captain followed closely, grasping Morin's other hand tightly.

"It feels so good to see an officer from our own country. We thought we weren't going to hold out!"

Morin was sandwiched between the two men, even pulled into a direct embrace by the two officers. For a moment, he was unaccustomed to such enthusiasm.

But he understood. After all, the Kingdom of Bulgaria's army had truly reached the end of the line.

These two had been stuck in this Bulgarian mess for who knows how long. Every day they watched the defensive lines being eaten away bit by bit. They watched helplessly as anyone in the allied Ministry of War and General Staff capable of leading troops on the front lines went up.

Those remaining were the indispensable personnel required to maintain army troop deployment and logistical operations.

Even the military assistance mission sent by the Saxon Empire had only left the two of them here for macro-level command; everyone else had gone to the front lines.

This kind of torment was indeed hard for anyone who hadn't experienced it personally to understand.

"You two have worked hard, but we are here now..."

Morin said with a sincere tone, simultaneously releasing his hands and taking the initiative to salute the two.

The opposing major also took a half-step back, bringing his legs together.

"Major Gerd von Rundstedt, Chief of Staff of the Saxon Imperial Army Military Assistance Mission to the Kingdom of Bulgaria!" (Age 40 at the time)

The slightly younger captain also took a half-step back and snapped to attention.

"Captain Hermann Hoth, Operations Officer of the Saxon Imperial Army Military Assistance Mission to the Kingdom of Bulgaria!" (Age 30 at the time)

Two names.

The moment Morin heard them, if he hadn't urgently managed his expression, his mouth would have likely formed an 'O' shape.

Rundstedt... Hoth...

These two names, which appeared numerous times in the history of World War II in another world, now stood before him.

One would become a Field Marshal with immense prestige in the army, commanding a galaxy of brilliant generals. The other was the master of armored tactics, renowned as "Papa Hoth."

Although in this world, they were currently just a major and a captain, based on their "growth potential," they were absolutely "UR cards" and "SSR cards"...

It was just a pity neither belonged to the instruction unit.

Morin suppressed the turbulent emotions within and straightened his posture.

"Colonel Friedrich von Morin, Commander of the Imperial Guards Assault Instruction Unit."

Hearing the exclusive title "Imperial Guards Assault Instruction Unit," Captain Hoth grew excited again.

"The instruction unit! We've heard of it before—the Empire's most elite experimental unit..."

Rundstedt was slightly more composed, but the force with which he clenched his fists after the salute betrayed his true feelings.

The only information the two had received previously was that the Fifth Army would dispatch a capable reinforcement force in an emergency. Further details remained unconfirmed due to temporary communication blackouts, so they felt like they had hit the jackpot.

"Colonel Morin, I've heard so much about you... Your exploits leading the surprise attack early in the war, and the battle in Paris, have spread throughout the Imperial Army."

Well, because they had been secretly dispatched to the Kingdom of Bulgaria to provide military assistance a long time ago, their knowledge of Morin's battle record was still stuck right after the Battle of Paris...

Morin waved his hand, ending the pleasantries and cutting straight to the chase.

Precisely because the two showed such excitement and admiration, the surrounding Bulgarian officers momentarily didn't know what to say, easily allowing Morin to seize control of the conversation.

"Let's put past vanity aside... Let's talk business."

He walked over to the hanging map, scanning the front lines and troop positions marked in various colors.

"Please give me a detailed rundown of the situation on the front lines."

Rundstedt and Hoth exchanged a glance. Rundstedt then took the lead, walking over to the map, picking up a pointer nearby, and gesturing at the map.

"Colonel, the current situation is as follows—"

He drew an arc to the southwest of Sofia.

"The main force of the Greek Kingdom Expeditionary Force exceeded two hundred thousand men, though that was their strength at the onset of their offensive."

"After layers of resistance and attrition across multiple defensive lines, subtracting rotated units and casualties, the troops still capable of attacking number less than a hundred thousand."

"They are currently all distributed along this twenty-kilometer arc-shaped line of contact. Their offensive focus is concentrated here." Rundstedt's pointer tapped on a place name.

"The Pernik Corridor... This is the primary transportation route to Sofia; both the highway and railway pass through here... The Greeks have been constantly trying to achieve a breakthrough from this direction."

Morin stared at the map, while the system map rapidly updated the troop strength information and rough distribution of both sides.

"And what about our forces?"

"The Bulgarian Army has thrown every available force into this defensive line... less than fifty thousand men."

"And that number is heavily inflated. The standing army that actually possesses combat capability might be just over thirty thousand... The rest are reservists and temporarily conscripted citizens, and..."

Rundstedt hesitated, unable to finish. Captain Hoth chimed in beside him.

"And those children."

Morin's finger moved across the map.

"What about artillery?"

"The Bulgarians currently have a large number of mountain guns deployed on the front lines. But the problem is an extreme shortage of ammunition. Unless it's an absolute emergency, they don't dare fire, let alone conduct artillery preparation."

Rundstedt continued, "The Greeks have at least three artillery regiments coordinating their attacks... The good news is, those antiquated heavy guns are too cumbersome to operate and maneuver in the woodlands, and their fire support efficiency is very low."

Morin pursed his lips. He had thought the situation for the Kingdom of Bulgaria was difficult, but to be honest, he didn't expect it to be this dire.

A numerical disadvantage, a firepower disadvantage, and their mages wiped out... It was truly a miracle the Bulgarians had held out until now.

And this was only against the Greeks—the weakest of the three besieging nations.

In the other world, the Greeks' most famous action in WWI was a division-sized unit marching straight through the front lines to surrender at the German positions.

Then those twenty-thousand-plus men spent the rest of the war eating German rations as prisoners of war...

Therefore, the intensity of combat against the Romanians and Ottomans could only be higher, not lower.

After a moment of silence, Morin asked, "What about the enemy mage units? Any detailed information?"

This time, Captain Hoth eagerly answered.

"We summarized some information from the frontline reports. The enemy doesn't have many mages, estimated at around a dozen or so, but they are accompanied by an equal number of heavily armored soldiers..."

"Their combat style is highly flexible. During the day, they usually operate with the attacking infantry, responsible for suppressing and hunting down the Bulgarian magical forces... Once the Bulgarian combat mages are depleted, they begin attacking key positions. Conventional soldiers are completely helpless against them."

"Do they have any movements at night?" Morin asked the crucial question.

"Colonel, there are currently no reports of mage activity at night." Hoth shook his head and continued, "So we assess that they, like other mages, likely need to rest and recover at night."

Morin nodded slightly, simultaneously making a quick assessment in his mind.

The scale and combat style of the Spell Jägers generally hadn't changed much; individually, they posed absolutely no threat to Morin.

However, their teamwork was incredibly strong. Once they coordinated as a squad, even 5th or 6th-circle mages had to tread carefully.

Fortunately, Morin wasn't a pure mage either.

"Colonel Morin, there is one more situation that needs explaining..."

Rundstedt tapped his pointer on Sofia's location on the map.

"The issue we were just arguing about with the Bulgarians... is that they want to abandon the outer defensive line and retreat into the urban area of Sofia for street fighting."

Morin turned his head, glancing at the Bulgarian officers standing behind them, then looked back at the two.

"What's your opinion?"

"Firmly opposed." Rundstedt didn't hesitate.

"Street fighting might seem like a way to use urban terrain to offset numerical disadvantages, but in practice, given the quality of Bulgaria's current troops... urban combat is far too complex for them."

"Furthermore..." He paused.

"The so-called 'Defense Regiments' in the city are ordinary people without adequate training, plus a massive number of teenagers who have never even fired a gun!"

Morin nodded. This assessment aligned perfectly with his own thoughts.

He dared to fight street battles in Sevres back then because he was surrounded by professional soldiers; their combat resilience was on a completely different level.

Having a bunch of child soldiers and militia fight street battles like Bulgaria wanted to wasn't "utilizing terrain advantages"—it was pure suicide.

"I agree with your view. The defensive line cannot be abandoned!"

Morin spoke, and Rundstedt and Hoth both looked at him.

"And not only will we not retreat, we will launch a counterattack, tomorrow morning!"

Morin spoke in his halting Bulgarian this time, immediately drawing the attention of the Bulgarian officers.

From their eyes, it wasn't hard to tell they likely thought this newly arrived allied officer was insane.

It was Rundstedt who reacted first.

"Wait... A counterattack? Colonel... How many men did you bring?"

"The force that can directly participate in the attack is roughly seven hundred men." (The instruction unit's battalions, companies, and platoons had already begun downsizing and streamlining.)

After Morin spoke, he noticed the expressions of both Rundstedt and Hoth shift slightly.

Seven hundred men—for a frontline measured in tens of thousands—indeed sounded like a drop in the bucket.

Morin didn't pause, continuing his explanation.

"This force directly committing to the attack is the 1st Battalion of the Instruction Unit, currently the most elite infantry unit in the Imperial Army..."

"For long-range fire support, I brought a 105mm long-barrel artillery battalion."

"Coordinating the attack, we also have three Armored Knights..."

At this point, Rundstedt and Hoth's expressions began to change.

"And a 'Thunder Warrior' squad."

Hoth frowned, asking in confusion, "'Thunder Warriors'? I haven't seen this designation in the Imperial Army's order of battle."

"It's a brand-new supernatural combat unit. It's perfectly normal that you two haven't heard of it since you've been stationed here in Bulgaria... Not everyone back home knows about this unit either."

Seeing they were still puzzled, Morin explained as concisely as possible.

"In short, they are specially modified super soldiers whose individual capabilities vastly exceed ordinary humans... Strength, speed, and reflexes are all comprehensively enhanced, and they possess the ability to use spell units."

"Equipped with exclusive 'Mjolnir' heavy armor and various powerful armaments... The battlefield suppressive power of a single Thunder Warrior, depending on the situation, is roughly equivalent to a company or platoon-level unit."

Rundstedt's eyes widened, and Hoth's jaw dropped.

"Are you saying... one person is equivalent to a platoon? Even a company?"

"Roughly, and that might be a conservative estimate... And we have 27 of them capable of fighting like that."

The two looked at each other, their expressions slowly shifting from surprise to something else.

Morin continued to add, "Additionally, we have an L15 armored airship... Although it isn't equipped with heavy guns, it can provide ground fire support with machine guns, autocannons, and explosive satchels. And most importantly, it can be used to directly airdrop Armored Knights and Thunder Warriors."

"..."

"Wait, Armored Knights? Airdrop?"

Captain Hoth took a deep breath. He simply couldn't process those two words together right now.

Rundstedt murmured absentmindedly, "I never imagined the Empire's weapon development had advanced to this stage!"

Morin didn't elaborate further on the topic. After all, "combat power" was just empty words when only described; when the fighting actually started, they would naturally understand.

So he drew their attention back to the map.

"I know, a frontal counterattack with seven hundred men against a frontline of nearly a hundred thousand sounds crazy... But I'm not launching a full-scale counteroffensive. It's a localized breakthrough!"

His finger tapped the location Rundstedt had marked earlier—the Pernik Corridor.

"The Greeks' offensive focus is here, meaning their command post and logistical assembly areas are highly likely located to the rear of this direction... We don't need to annihilate all their forces; we only need to paralyze their command center. The crisis in Sofia will naturally be resolved."

"And the enemy mage units are highly likely in that vicinity too, correct?"

Rundstedt thought for a moment before answering cautiously, "Based on frontline reports, the enemy mages usually appear in the main direction of attack... So yes, the probability is very high!"

"Then that's even better!"

Morin smiled.

"We'll find an opportunity to wipe out these mages in one fell swoop... Once they lose magical support, the Greek expeditionary force is nothing to fear!"

Rundstedt fell silent for a few seconds, rubbing his chin.

As a forty-year-old experienced staff officer, he wasn't easily swayed by grandiose claims.

But the problem at hand was that he truly had no better plan.

If the defensive line continued to be worn down like this, it could hold out for two or three days at most.

Furthermore, Bulgarian morale was plummeting visibly. Another massive offensive like the one today might truly break them.

Under these circumstances, a surprise counterattack—even a risky one—was better than sitting idly waiting for death.

Moreover, Morin actually possessed verifiable military merits. If anyone else had said this, he wouldn't have accepted it so quickly...

"Colonel Morin, I believe... the feasibility of your plan exists."

After a moment of thought, Rundstedt spoke again. "But there are two prerequisites... First, your troops must reach the front lines and complete combat preparations before dawn. Second, you must be confident in dealing with those mage units."

Hearing these two questions, Morin outright laughed.

"Relax. I brought the 1st Battalion of the Instruction Unit. The physical stamina and marching capability of every single soldier far exceed the average level of the Imperial Army... A 20-kilometer night march will take them four and a half hours at most, possibly even faster."

"Based on the armored airship's current operational speed, we should be able to depart around midnight and will definitely be in position before 4:30 AM."

"As for the other question..." Morin smiled, making a rare joke, "I didn't earn this 'Mage Killer' nickname for nothing~"

The title "Mage Killer" acted like a potent tranquilizer.

Hoth turned to look at Rundstedt. The expressions of both men underwent a subtle shift... from cautious optimism to genuine trust.

As for the Bulgarian officers, they were actually out of options as well.

If not absolutely forced to, no one wanted to fight street battles in their own capital.

Since the Saxons seemed to have sent a very formidable-looking officer and a batch of elite troops, maybe they could actually salvage the situation?

"Then we have no other objections... After all, we really have played all the 'cards' in our hand these past few days."

Rundstedt: "Colonel Morin, this defensive line at Sofia... is in your hands."

"Rest assured, gentlemen. But I need you to coordinate a few things on your end."

Morin looked at the two of them and the surrounding Bulgarian officers, speaking up, "When it's near dawn tomorrow, roughly around 4:30 AM, notify the Bulgarian troops on the frontline defensive positions via telephone..."

"Tell them that at dawn, allied forces will launch a surprise attack from the Greeks' flank, and order them to be ready to coordinate with the assault at any moment."

"But don't notify them too early... The risk of information leaks must be minimized at a time like this."

"Understood."

The two replied in unison.

Morin checked his watch; it was already 10:15 PM.

According to plan, the airship would finish unloading around midnight, and then he would lead the 1st Battalion out.

Time wasn't abundant, but it wasn't overly tight either.

Just as Morin prepared to discuss specific details with the two officers, a commotion arose at the warehouse entrance.

Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov, who had left after dropping Morin off, walked over briskly and addressed the group.

"Gentlemen, His Majesty has arrived."

Morin, who was conversing with Hoth, turned around and saw a man surrounded by several attendants in dark civilian clothes walking through the warehouse doors.

The man who walked in was about fifty years old.

Although his tight military uniform made him look a bit stout, Morin could tell he was just as haggard as Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov.

Captain Hoth leaned close to Morin's ear and whispered.

"This is the King of Bulgaria... or Tsar, Ferdinand I."

Hearing this name, Morin's face remained expressionless, but inwardly he was struggling to keep it together...

Not long ago, he was in the royal palace of Bucharest, stabbing another "Ferdinand I" to death with the Holy See's Holy Sword.

Now, he stood before another Ferdinand I.

It was just that this Ferdinand I of Bulgaria clearly hadn't turned into a vampire.

And aside from their vigorous "troop spawning," the Kingdom of Bulgaria currently didn't seem to possess any other strengths or "hidden trump cards"...

The King of Bulgaria stopped in front of Morin, his attendants tactfully stepping back a distance.

Following the etiquette he had learned previously, Morin bowed slightly like a Bristleback, waiting for the other party to speak first.

This "Tsar" of Bulgaria looked Morin up and down for a few seconds before finally speaking.

"Colonel Morin, we thank you..."

He spoke standard Saxon, even carrying a hint of an old-school Dresden accent... This was likely due to the historical ties between the Bulgarian royal family and the Saxon Empire.

He was also a member of the House of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, and a distant relative of Albert II.

In terms of bloodlines, he was even more closely related than the "Ferdinand I" of Romania.