Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 4 A Powerful Noblewoman.
Morin was completely numb.

He felt that after he transmigrated, his worldview was being repeatedly shattered, rebuilt, and then shattered again.

First, he got a good beating, then he got a cheat system, then he became a super-powered canned soldier equipped with plate armor and a greatsword, capable of taking firearms shots at close range, and now even the 'International Brigade' has popped up.

How did these left-wing fighters, who are clearly 'commi' or 'anarchists,' end up getting involved with a feudal empire like the Saxon Empire, which is obviously a right-wing militarist regime?
The direction of this timeline is so outrageous, it's like having Wilhelm II and Lenin holding hands and singing "La Marseillaise" together, full of magical realism.

Before Morin could even process the puzzling thoughts in his head, he was supported by the soldiers in their metal cans and stumbled along with the main force as they retreated.

He was in so much pain that he had no energy left to delve into the world's ideological issues.

Right now, survival is the most important thing.

The group traveled through the night and soon retreated to the outskirts of Seville.

Behind a thicket of bushes, several military trucks with a rather retro look were parked in the shadows.

There were also many bicycles and tall horses nearby, and some soldiers who remained behind were leading their horses, vigilantly observing their surroundings.

The whole scene exuded a strange atmosphere unique to the World War I era, a blend of industry and agriculture.

Upon arrival, there was no delay. Morin, Lieutenant General Mackensen, and the rescued wounded, along with the heavily armored soldiers in tin cans, were all given priority to be loaded onto the trailers of several trucks.

The remaining Saxon soldiers and International Brigades armed personnel nimbly mounted their warhorses or bicycles.

With the roar of engines and the neighing of horses, the mixed convoy sped off in a grand procession towards the distance from the city.

There were no seats in the truck bed, so Morin and Lieutenant General Mackensen had to lie half-reclined on the cold iron plate covered with a layer of hay, swaying with the bumps of the vehicle.

By the moonlight, he secretly observed the lieutenant general beside him.

Mackensen looked terrible, and the blood at the corner of his mouth had congealed, but he still stood up straight, his eyes fixed sharply on the night scene rushing past outside the trailer.

Morin noticed that the lieutenant general's gaze would occasionally fall on him, and there seemed to be something more in his eyes than before, no longer the pure scrutiny of a superior over a subordinate.

Just as Morin was trying to recall the memories of the original owner of this body and figure out what connection he had with this lieutenant general, Mackensen suddenly spoke up.

"The last time I saw you was at a cocktail party in Dresden."

Mackensen's voice sounded somewhat weary. He didn't look at Morin; his gaze remained fixed on the distance.

"Back then, you were no different from those aristocratic children whose families had fallen on hard times. You lived off the protection of your ancestors, and your eyes were empty and numb."

Upon hearing this, Morin's expression shifted slightly. He realized that this general seemed to be an old acquaintance of the original owner of this body, or rather, the original owner's ancestors.

"But your performance today surprised me a bit."

Mackensen finally turned his head and looked intently at Morin.

"I originally thought that if a Britannian's fist landed on your face, you would spill everything you knew within three blows."

Morin twitched the corner of his mouth but didn't say anything.

What could he say? That he genuinely knew nothing at the time?
He said all he could think about was, "Just kill me already, don't delay my reincarnation."
If he said that out loud, the lieutenant general would probably kick him off the truck on the spot.

Mackensen seemed to take Morin's silence as a form of acquiescence, nodding with a hint of approval in his tone.

"It seems that the blood of your fathers still flows in your veins, that Saxon soldier's spirit, but it has been covered up for too long by your decadent past."

However, what Mackensen said next made Maureen's heart skip a beat.

"But that doesn't mean I'll lower my standards for you."

The lieutenant general's tone turned cold again, even carrying a hint of undisguised anger.

"The day before the military observer mission was to depart, a telegram from home bypassed the layers of command and was delivered directly to my desk."

"There was such a powerful 'noblewoman'."

When Mackensen said the word, he clearly emphasized it, his tone full of disdain and contempt.

"She hopes I can 'take care' of you, preferably by transferring you to a clerical position in the rear to ensure your safety."

At this point, Mackensen let out a cold snort. He endured the pain and forced himself to sit up, leaning closer until his face was almost touching Morin's, and said, word by word:

"What does she think the army is? Her backyard or a sanatorium?!"

"What I hate most are these parasites who treat the military as a place to gild their resumes! And those idiots who try to interfere with military command through nepotism!"

He stared intently at Morin, the oppressive aura making it almost impossible for Morin to breathe.

"So, I won't!" "Not only will I not transfer you to the rear, I'll also assign you to the front line! And to the very first combat unit in the attack sequence!"

"I'll let you experience firsthand what war is really like! I'll see if your bones, softened by alcohol, can ever harden again!"

The truck jolted violently, and Morin's heart skipped a beat.

He didn't speak. Mainly because Mackensen's pressure on him was too strong, and he really didn't know what to say.

Another reason is that, in his memory, the original owner's parents had already passed away.

Moreover, even if she were still alive, given the current state of the family's decline, his mother could hardly be considered a noblewoman.

Not to mention, they also possessed the ability to send telegrams directly to the front lines.
Therefore, he had no idea who Lieutenant General Mackensen was talking about for the time being.

After saying what he had just said, the old general hissed and gasped for breath before lying back down.

The convoy continued its journey on the bumpy dirt road, the two men remaining silent.

Feeling a bit awkward, Morin turned her head and saw several huge black silhouettes silently floating in the night sky in the distance.

Those were several huge air spheres hidden in the night, almost impossible to spot without careful observation.

It seems that the precise and deadly artillery fire earlier was guided by these aerial eyes.

After driving for about ten kilometers, the convoy finally slowed down and entered a large, prepared camp.

Morin turned to observe the surroundings. It appeared to be a camp built against a hillside and in the woods, and it was quite large.

Soldiers in gray field uniforms moved back and forth between the tents, and further away, the barrels of towed artillery could be seen, though none of them were deployed for the time being.

From the conversations of the surrounding officers, Morin deduced that this must be the frontline assembly area and temporary command post of the Saxon Empire's army in this region.

After the truck came to a stop, Morin jumped off the back of the truck bed and then turned around to help the old general out of the truck.

However, the old man was in good health. He ignored Morin's outstretched hand and jumped down directly.

Upon seeing this, several staff officers immediately surrounded him excitedly, while Lieutenant General Mackensen ignored Morin and, without turning his head, walked towards the largest tent in the center of the position, surrounded by his staff officers.

The soldiers and officers around him were also busy with their tasks. A military doctor found Morin, gave him some basic treatment, and then hurriedly left.

For a time, Morin, who was completely confused about the situation, became the most leisurely or rather, idle person in the area.

However, Morin still knew how to cause trouble for himself. After finding a corner to sit down, he took out the officer's ID and document bag that he had previously searched the officers of the Holy Britannian Empire.

The text on the officer's ID was in English that Morin was familiar with, but the content made him somewhat uneasy.

"An intelligence agent from MI9?"

"The 4th Battalion of the Northumberland Fusiliers Regiment is still a major?"

As for the documents in the package, although they didn't reveal much important information, they probably gave Morin a better understanding of the enemy's situation.

As Morin continued browsing, a series of prompts flashed through his mind.

[Information collection rate: 10%]

[New 'intelligence' has been gathered. Please check the relevant entry!]

The information has been updated; please check the relevant entry!

After confirming that all the information had been collected, Morin walked to the entrance of the tent where Lieutenant General Mackensen and his staff were located and asked the guards to help carry the items inside.

Then he returned to the corner he had been in, lay down on the ground, and began to clear the red dots.

In the process, he quickly figured out the current situation and even awakened many of the original owner's memories.

This guy, whose name is also transliterated as Morin, just like Mackensen said on the truck, was descended from Junker military nobles.

Morin's grandfather even served in the 'Death Hussars' alongside Mackensen, and the two forged a deep friendship.

Even after Maureen's grandfather died in battle, and the family declined due to his father's extravagance and eventual death from alcoholism, Mackensen continued to take care of other relatives, including Maureen.

They even introduced Maureen to a military academy, which can be considered as doing more than enough.
Morin did not disappoint the opportunity provided by the old general. After graduating from military academy, he was assigned to the 33rd Infantry Regiment of the 16th Infantry Brigade of the 9th Infantry Division of the Saxon Empire Army, based on his good overall performance.

Under normal circumstances, Morin would have become a platoon leader in a company of a battalion under this infantry regiment, becoming a low-ranking officer in the Saxon Empire, just like his seniors.

But the problem lies in the unit he was assigned to.

Almost simultaneously with the transfer order, his 16th Infantry Brigade received orders to march south in full gear into the neighboring Kingdom of Aragon.
(End of this chapter)