Trenches, Guns, and Magic

Morin had originally wanted to hold Helga on the camp bed a little longer, but the girl's modesty got the better of her. Blushing furiously, she insisted she couldn't stay any longer.

Seeing her bashful state, Morin could only oblige and escort her back.

They walked out of the tent, one behind the other. The Bucharest night breeze carried a hint of coolness, dissipating the lingering heat between them.

The temporary camp was relatively quiet now, broken only by the occasional footsteps of patrolling sentries.

Morin walked slowly beside Helga. She kept her head down, hands clasped behind her back, occasionally stealing glances up at him.

After watching Helga disappear into her tent, Morin turned and began walking back.

He hadn't gone more than a few steps when his stomach suddenly gave a violent lurch.

Immediately following, an indescribable wave of hunger swept over his entire body—a sensation he had experienced once before.

Back at the Imperial Military Medical Center, just after waking up from the modification potion injection, he felt exactly like this: as if there were a bottomless pit in his stomach.

Back then, he had to consume a staggering amount of food to barely suppress that hunger.

Morin quickened his pace back to his tent. His orderly, having returned to his post at the entrance, immediately pulled the flap open for him.

As Morin stepped inside, he turned and said, "Hans, go check the kitchen and see what food they have left."

The orderly followed him in, carefully observing Morin's expression.

"Are you hungry, Colonel?"

Morin clutched his stomach and pulled up a folding chair.

"You have no idea. I'm actually starving..."

Hearing the word "starving," the orderly's demeanor instantly shifted. He snapped to attention, saluting as if receiving a critical military order.

"Yes, Colonel!"

With that, Hans spun on his heel and sprinted out of the tent, running toward the field kitchen at top speed.

It was well past the troops' regular dinner time. At the field kitchen, a few cooks were cleaning up the kitchen carts and utensils.

The head chef sat on a wooden crate nearby, tallying up the prep list for tomorrow morning.

The orderly burst into the field kitchen, scanned the area, and quickly spotted the head chef.

"Chef... the command post needs extra rations!"

The head chef stood up, dusting flour off his apron. "Is it for the Colonel?"

The orderly nodded vigorously, then pulled a somewhat battered notebook from his tunic pocket.

This was the "secret grimoire" passed down among the instruction unit's successive orderlies, densely packed with records of Morin's habits, especially his culinary preferences.

The orderly flipped it open, quickly scanned a page under the camp lights, and rattled off a list.

"The Colonel needs bacon and fried eggs, a prime roasted pork knuckle with mashed potatoes, a pan-fried fish, all the side dishes, and cover it in thick gravy."

The head chef frowned slightly.

"Just that? Isn't that a bit little?"

The orderly gulped and shoved the notebook back into his pocket.

"That's why I used the word 'some' earlier. You decide the exact quantity... Anyway, the Colonel just told me personally that he is 'starving'."

"..."

The expression on the head chef's face turned utterly serious. He knew all too well the fighting capacity of this Colonel when in a "starving" state...

That wasn't a problem a simple extra meal could solve.

Hearing this, the head chef spun around to face the cooks, who had also noticed the "emergency."

"Everyone back to your stations! This is not a drill!"

The cooks immediately dropped their rags and brushes, scrambling back to their posts.

"Go to the borrowed cellar and pick out a big pork knuckle! And fetch a fish!"

"Peel potatoes and carrots and get them boiling! Slice the bacon thin!"

"Move it! We can't keep the Colonel waiting!"

The entire field kitchen instantly boiled over. Stoves were relit, and everyone coordinated to prepare Morin's food at maximum speed.

Meanwhile, sitting alone in his tent, Morin turned his attention back to the system interface.

When he woke up earlier, he only gave it a cursory glance. Now he finally had time to study it closely.

First up was the message: 【"Second-Generation Sentinel" Modification Potion Progress: 65%】.

Morin stared at this number for a long time. He clearly remembered it was only at 40% when he left the Imperial Military Medical Center.

After surviving so many intense battles since then, the progress had only slowly crawled to 45%.

And now, it had jumped straight to 65%.

An absurd thought flashed through Morin's mind.

Did I get stronger? Was it because of the 'combat' with Helga just now?

But that clearly defied logic. This wasn't some cultivation world where you leveled up through dual cultivation, and the system wouldn't grant such a massive progress boost for something like that.

Otherwise, the progress bar should have skyrocketed back when he was getting intimate with Cecilia, shouldn't it?

Discarding that unreliable thought, Morin quickly grasped the key point.

What forced the potion progress from 45% to 65% was obviously the "Paradise Potion No. 3" provided by Cleric Cristiano, coupled with Ferdinand I serving as a "super EXP pack."

Before drinking the potion, his bodily functions had been squeezed to their absolute limit. "Paradise Potion No. 3" not only repaired his injuries but also temporarily stimulated his potential and enhanced all his abilities.

No wonder Cleric Cristiano only brought two vials. This stuff must be an exceedingly rare strategic resource within the Vatican.

Add to that the intense combat stimulation of killing a high-tier spellcaster, and the potion's integration process within his body was completely catalyzed.

Morin ultimately reached a conclusion—sure enough, leveling up through "glorious combat" was the fastest way.

As for the visceral feeling of the modification progress jumping from 45% to 65%...

Morin rubbed his flat stomach.

His most immediate sensation was that he could swallow a cow whole. Every physical enhancement required massive amounts of energy to sustain.

Knowing the kitchen needed time to prepare the food, Morin could only endure the hunger. Rummaging through a nearby storage crate, he finally found a few pieces of hardtack bread meant for emergencies.

Gnawing on the bread, Morin continued checking the other missed messages on the system interface, trying to distract himself from the hunger.

The next few messages he saw on the 【Intelligence】 interface slowed his chewing.

【The Papal State declares war on the Holy Britannia Empire; a new 'Religious War' begins.

【The Papal State has formed a strategic alliance with the Saxon Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire.】

【The Vatican issues a writ of excommunication against former Bishop Angelo, stating that any nation aiding the apostate will become an enemy of the Holy See.】

【The Military College of Cardinals of the Papal State has ordered the assembly of the standing Papal Guard; mobilization orders for reserve crusaders have been issued to all dioceses on the Apennine Peninsula.】

The Holy See's reaction was even fiercer than he anticipated.

After the Britannians stole the "Heart," the Vatican clearly didn't bother with diplomatic protests; they just flipped the table and declared war.

They even labeled it a "Religious War," evidently having harbored grudges against "Protestantism" for a long time, intending to settle all old and new scores at once...

For the Saxon Empire, this was undoubtedly incredibly good news.

Up to this point in the war, the Saxon Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire were facing significant pressure across multiple fronts.

Adding the Papal State as a strategic ally provided timely reinforcements, both in terms of troop numbers and supernatural forces.

Moreover, Morin had witnessed the formidable combat power of the Holy See's armed forces firsthand. Based on his interactions, the Church's military in this world was no joke.

Or rather, bolstered by religion and certain supernatural powers, they were actually a very capable fighting force...

Besides these pieces of intel regarding the Holy See, two other messages on the 【Intelligence】 interface made Morin sigh at how rapidly the global situation was shifting.

【The Mediterranean Fleet of the Holy Britannia Empire successfully launched a surprise attack on the main force of the Gallic Republic Navy at Oran Port.】

【The combined naval fleet of the Saxon Empire, the Papal State, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire has engaged the Mediterranean Fleet of the Holy Britannia Empire.】

The simultaneous appearance of these two pieces of intelligence instantly completed Morin's puzzle regarding the situation in the Mediterranean.

What he had suspected all along actually happened.

Operation Catapult, which took place during World War II in his previous timeline, played out a full twenty-five years early in this world.

To prevent the Gallic Navy's warships from falling into Saxon hands, the Britannians actually struck a lethal blow against their former ally.

He had to admit, the traditional skill of backstabbing allies truly ran in their bloodline.

However, judging from the second piece of intel, things didn't go so smoothly for the Britannians this time. According to the report, they were intercepted by the three-nation combined fleet on their way back from doing their dirty work at Oran Port.

Individually, the navies of the Saxon Empire, the Papal State, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire were no match for the Royal Navy.

But banded together, they clearly had fighting capability—especially with the support of armored airships.

Therefore, Morin estimated that the Royal Navy's Mediterranean Fleet was likely facing a very grim situation this time.

He leaned back in his chair, unable to help but shake his head.

"Man proposes, God disposes..."

They had just finished betraying their ally, only to turn around and get pummeled into the sea by the combined fleet. Karma came knocking entirely too fast.

However, this was also excellent news for the overall war effort.

If the combined fleet could use this opportunity to heavily damage or even annihilate the Mediterranean Fleet, they could logically capture Malta Port, completely stripping the Britannians of their naval supremacy in the Mediterranean.

And if the enemy wanted to support their North African colonies via the Mediterranean sea route, it wouldn't be nearly as easy anymore.

Just as Morin was pondering these issues, the rich aroma of meat wafted into the tent.

Morin's nose twitched violently. Then, he shot up from his chair, his eyes locked dead on the tent flap.

That aroma had completely hooked his stomach.

Soon, the orderly pulled the flap open, and a field kitchen cook walked in carrying a large tray.

Piled high on the tray was a roasted pork knuckle, sizzling and dripping with fat, garnished with classic Saxon sauerkraut. Beside it sat a small mountain of mashed potatoes drenched in rich gravy.

Arrayed around it were thinly sliced bacon, several golden fried eggs, a perfectly pan-fried sea fish, and half a lemon for garnish.

The moment the cook set the tray on the folding table, Morin—who rarely stood on ceremony within his own unit—thanked the man while simultaneously grabbing his knife and fork.

Almost the instant the tray touched the table, Morin began eating frantically.

He didn't slice the meat methodically as usual. He pinned the pork knuckle down with his fork and sent his knife flying in a blur.

Large chunks of roast meat, complete with crispy crackling, were sliced off, dipped in gravy and sauerkraut, and shoved directly into his mouth.

He chewed at an astonishing speed, his Adam's apple bobbing continuously.

The cook, seeing Morin eat up close for the first time, stood by and felt hungry just watching him.

He also remembered the head chef's instructions before he left.

"If Colonel Morin is eating normally, then everything is fine... But if Colonel Morin is eating very fast, come back and report immediately."

Right now, Morin wasn't just eating fast; he was inhaling food like a maritime tornado.

The mountain of gravy-covered mashed potatoes vanished at a visible rate under Morin's spoon, and the roasted pork knuckle was already stripped to the bone.

The cook turned, exchanged a glance with the orderly at the door, and immediately bolted from the tent.

The moment he stepped outside, he broke into a sprint faster than his usual armed cross-country runs, racing toward the field kitchen.

Inside the field kitchen, the head chef paced anxiously.

Seeing the cook run back, panting heavily, the head chef already knew the answer.

"Is the Colonel eating fast?" he shouted.

The cook rushed up to him, panting as he nodded.

"Yes! The first tray is almost empty!"

Hearing this, the head chef slapped his thigh hard.

"I knew it! That tiny bit wasn't even enough to fill the gaps between his teeth!"

He spun around immediately, dispensing orders methodically.

"Keep roasting those pre-cooked pork knuckles! The Colonel likes crispy skin, 230 degrees for 15 minutes, don't stop!"

"Bring out all the remaining high-protein food! Pan-fried fish, Gallic duck confit, beef patties... cook everything we can!"

The cooks in the entire field kitchen sprang into action. The scene rivaled a frontline artillery position preparing for a massive barrage—only the artillerymen handled munitions, while they handled ingredients.

Meanwhile, inside the tent, Morin had swept the first tray completely clean, even using his last piece of black bread to mop up the gravy at the bottom of the plate.

The hollow feeling in his stomach eased slightly, but the problem was he quickly felt his stomach already digesting the food he had just swallowed.

According to the research of Master Haber and his team, and based on samples extracted from his own body, it seemed his digestive system's stomach acid was much stronger than a normal person's to facilitate faster energy absorption, digesting food much more thoroughly...

Therefore, that deep-seated hunger continued urging Morin to eat.

"Not enough... Not nearly enough."

Morin put down his knife and fork, grabbed the canteen on the table, and took a large swig of water. The orderly chimed in, saying the field kitchen was already preparing more food and would deliver it shortly.

Morin nodded. He had actually wanted to tell the orderly to go hurry them up, but since he said that, Morin felt a bit embarrassed to ask.

At that moment, the tent flap opened again.

This time, it wasn't the cook delivering food, but Manstein.

Seeing the look of hope in Morin's eyes turn into disappointment, Manstein couldn't help but smile.

"Colonel, are you disappointed to see it's not the field kitchen cook?~"

"Tch, opening the wrong pot..."

Manstein stopped in front of Morin. Just as he was about to report, his eyes fell on the massive, spotless plate on the table.

Looking at Morin's unsatisfied expression, Manstein raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Colonel, your constitution is truly extraordinary. You went through such intense combat, even entering a weakened state... and yet you fully recovered after just a short nap. And looking at your appetite... it seems even better than before."

Morin shrugged helplessly. "The energy expenditure was too great; my body instinctively needs to replenish it... By the way, how is Cleric Cristiano?"

Mentioning the cleric, Manstein dropped his relaxed demeanor.

"He hasn't woken up yet. According to the other military chaplains, it will be at least five or six hours before he regains consciousness."

"However, when those clerics heard you were already awake, they were shocked beyond words."

"They even wanted to come over as a group to see your condition, but I stopped them outside, saying you needed absolute quiet to rest."

"Beautifully done!" Morin gave him a thumbs up. "I'd be too embarrassed to eat this fast with outsiders watching~"

Just then, three cooks filed into the tent.

Each carried a large tray.

Pan-fried fish, Gallic duck confit, Saxon beef patties, and an entire pot of rich, aromatic stew.

Manstein watched this mountain of food being laid out in front of Morin and instinctively leaned back to give him room to maneuver.

Morin didn't stand on ceremony either. He picked up his knife and fork and plunged back into the great endeavor of eating.

Slicing into the perfectly pan-fried Saxon beef patty—which to him looked somewhat like Salisbury steak—and seeing the minced beef mixed with onions, breadcrumbs, and other ingredients, Morin's appetite surged again.

Chewing heartily, he asked indistinctly, "So, Erich, did you come to see me about something important?"

"Yes, Colonel!"

Manstein opened the file in his hand and began his report.

"Shortly before you woke up, representatives of our Kampfgruppe formally engaged in negotiations with the returning troops of the Kingdom of Romania."

"And the result?" Morin swallowed a mouthful of beef.

"Very successful. The other party has agreed to a ceasefire."