1885, I came to save Greece

General Papagiorou's laughter echoed in the operations room, filled with the smell of alcohol and power.

His thick fingers almost pierced the sand table as he pointed at his unstoppable blue army, which was chasing the pitiful red defenses into a rout. He turned his head, deliberately facing Constantine, and raised his voice high.

"Your Highness! Kid! Look carefully! This is what war is all about!"

Papageorghiu watched as the Metaxas wargames retreated to a valley that seemed familiar, and sneered inwardly.

Despite his extensive military experience, he was no fool. In his youth, he led an infantry regiment in a fierce battle against three Ottoman cavalry regiments for several days. It was this bloody battle that established his reputation in the military.

He waved his hand, and two teams of chess pieces representing cavalry scouts were dispatched to scout along both sides of the valley.

"Reporting, General! No enemy main force detected on the high ground on either side!" the scout quickly reported. Papagiorou was completely relieved upon hearing this. Little did he know that what his scouts had seen was merely a carefully laid camouflage by Metaxas.

He sneered inwardly, "Trying to use the canyon terrain to slow my attack? Naïve! With my overwhelming numerical superiority and swift assault, any traps will be crushed before they can even be activated!" He had absolute confidence in his battle-hardened intuition and the courage of his soldiers.

He waved his hand and let out a beast-like roar: "Excellent! All-out attack! That kid has nowhere to run!"

Victory is already in our grasp!

He could even picture the scene after the simulation, where Metaxas, that nerd, would kneel on the ground, weeping and kissing his riding boots.

"Pass on my orders!" Papagiorou suddenly raised the command pole, preparing to issue the final order for the all-out offensive, to completely crush the remaining Red Army into dust.

Right now.

Metaxa has moved.

The young man, who had been silent and yielding since the start of the simulation, as if he had been terrified, suddenly raised his head. The panic and humiliation in his eyes vanished without a trace, replaced by a cold calm devoid of any human emotion.

He stretched out his arm, his movement as steady as a church bell.

Then, his arm swung down suddenly!

"Fire!"

A low shout.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. A Pandora's box had been completely opened!

"boom!"

It seemed as if a deafening roar resounded in everyone's ears in the operations room!

No, that wasn't a sound.

It was hundreds and thousands of cannon shots, all converging at the same moment into a single sound powerful enough to tear your eardrums apart!

On the sand table, a sudden change occurs!

On both sides of that narrow valley, on the mountainous highlands that had been previously ignored by everyone, those red wooden blocks representing four entire Metaxus artillery battalions—which had been ridiculed as "sitting ducks" and "ineffective deployments" (Papageorghiu had roughly calculated the distance; the Metaxus artillery couldn't reach his own troops. Unless he used the artillery as infantry, there wouldn't be enough time to provide support)—now seemed to have transformed into the piercing eyes of a demon!

The referee and his assistants received instructions and, almost in terror, grabbed handfuls of red markers representing the impact points of the shells and slammed them onto the sand table like a plague of death!

"Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!"

A barrage of intense, teeth-grinding impacts echoed wildly in the deathly silent operations room!

Not a single one of those red markers was wasted; not a single one landed on an empty spot, and not a single one struck the mountainside.

Every single one landed precisely in the canyon, in that crowded, chaotic, and impenetrable sea of ​​blue flags!

This is not a chaotic shelling!

This is a net! A crossfire net formed by artillery positions on the high ground on both sides of the valley, after extremely rigorous ballistic calculations!

A web of death woven from flames and steel!

On the sand table, the dense sea of ​​blue flags looked as if it had truly been plowed by unseen cannonballs! With each red marker representing the impact point of the cannonballs, the referee's hand coldly swept across, and rows of blue flags fell like harvested wheat, revealing the bare background of the sand table. The scene was like a piece of healthy skin having its flesh and blood instantly gouged out, revealing the stark white bones!

The scene was instantly distorted and magnified in Papagiorou's eyes!

He watched helplessly as his legion, his proud iron hammer, was plunged into a purgatory of cannonballs and flames in his most triumphant moment!

The artillery fire from the left tore open the right flank of his army!

The artillery fire from the right flank shattered the left flank of his army!

Shells exploded in the crowded ranks, and invisible shockwaves and shrapnel ravaged the sand table. His formation was disrupted in the first second; the soldiers had nowhere to hide and nowhere to take cover. Under the repeated barrage of bullets, they were eliminated in droves!

"In the first round of concentrated fire, the Blue Team's main central force suffered losses exceeding 30%!"

The referee's cold voice, like a hammer, slammed into Papagiorou's chest.

The drunken smile on his face froze.

"No...it's impossible!" he screamed, his voice shrill with shock. "How did he know my starting position?! How...how could he be so accurate?!"

He wanted to reorganize his troops and send his cavalry up the hillside to knock out those damned artillery positions.

But Metaxas gave him absolutely no chance to breathe.

"Phase Two: 'Carpet Spread' Coverage. Coordinates 143, 137, extending forward for coverage!"

Another unfamiliar term, unheard of before, came out of Metaxa's mouth, cold and clear.

In the corner, Constantine, who had been smiling the whole time, twitched his lips slightly.

On the sand table, the crimson barrage of death continued unabated. It began to advance slowly and steadily, like a moving wall of fire, a relentless iron plow!

It blocked the Blue Team's path forward!

It cut off the Blues' retreat route!

Papagiorou's army was pinned to the canyon by this moving wall of fire, trapped with no way to advance or retreat, and nowhere to go!

"What...what kind of tactic is this?"

"My God! The artillery fire... the artillery fire is moving! It's like... it's like God's plow, tilling back and forth across the enemy's lines!"

The generals present could even hallucinate the screams and explosions right next to them! They had never seen, or even imagined, such terrifying artillery tactics! It was beyond their comprehension!

This is not the end.

This is the beginning of a nightmare.

"Reserves, attack!"

Metaxas issued the final, and most lethal, order.

When the Blue Army was utterly decimated by artillery fire, fragmented, and its command system completely broken, the Red Infantry Regiment, which had been ridiculed and considered useless by everyone and hidden deep behind Metaxus's lines, made its move!

They were like a poisoned dagger, silently stabbing straight into the heart of the Blues from their rear, which had become incredibly vulnerable due to their all-out attack!

At the same time, the retreating defensive forces stopped their advance and turned to counterattack!

Pincer attack!

A classic and deadliest pincer attack was formed at the perfect moment!

Papagiorou's army was pinned down in the canyon by artillery fire and could not move.

Their retreat was cut off by a fresh force.

Ahead, hungry wolves turned and pounced.

The front and rear cannot support each other! The commander's orders simply cannot reach the front lines, which are under heavy artillery fire!

The entire Blue Legion descended into utter chaos, collapse, and infighting!

Papagiorou stood before the sand table, staring blankly at everything. He watched as his flags were pulled out one by one, by the referee.

His cavalry was deemed to have been completely wiped out.

His infantry formations were divided, surrounded, and annihilated one by one.

His forehead was covered in beads of cold sweat, which slid down his cheeks. His hands, which had just been so confident and authoritative, were now trembling uncontrollably, and he couldn't even hold onto the command stick that symbolized power. It fell to the ground with a thud.