Saxon First Army Group position, second trench, an underground bunker.
This was the basic command post of the instruction unit in the defense zone.
When the 3rd Battalion Commander, Jonathan, rushed into the command post panting heavily, what hit his face was waves of somewhat choking secondhand smoke.
Although according to the requirements of combat regulations, smoking is not allowed in the command post during wartime.
But when a battle really breaks out, especially when the duration of the battle drags on for a long time, it's basically impossible to keep the people inside the command post from smoking.
Right now, the regimental officers and clerks were incredibly busy, and from time to time, messengers would run in to deliver information.
Kleist, Manstein, and Paulus were gathered together, nervously discussing something.
The 3rd Battalion Commander, Jonathan, frowned. After raising his hand to fan away a cloud of smoke in front of his eyes, he also picked up a cigarette from a side table and joined in.
After taking two deep drags to let himself slightly "recover" his state, he handed the cigarette to a clerk nearby and walked quickly to Kleist and the others.
Then, using as concise words as possible, he repeated Morin's specific location and the orders he subsequently issued.
And Kleist and Manstein, who were originally frowning deeply at the combat map, almost simultaneously fell into a brief silence—or more accurately, their vision went black for a moment.
"The Lieutenant Colonel went charging again?"
Manstein took a deep breath, feeling his temples throbbing, as if a snare drum was beating inside.
"He just finished his confinement and was released. Instead of staying properly in the basic command post, he took the four General's Guards to plug the gap in the first line of defense?"
Kleist's complexion wasn't any better. This regimental adjutant, always known for his steadiness, was now rubbing the space between his eyebrows somewhat wearily.
"I knew it would be like this..."
He sighed, his tone revealing a deep sense of helplessness.
"As long as General Mackensen and the others don't restrict him, the Lieutenant Colonel will definitely go to the front line to take risks... Last time in Amiens too, charging the bridgehead single-handedly with a machine gun, and this time going into hand-to-hand combat with a shotgun..."
Speaking of this, Kleist also glanced at Manstein beside him.
"Erich, I even suspect that if we gave the Lieutenant Colonel an armored airship, he'd dare to fly directly across the Channel to attack London."
"I agree."
The two sighed again almost simultaneously, and Paulus, who had also slowly become familiar with Morin's style of acting, also looked helpless at this moment.
Morin was considered the most personally stylized imperial officer he had seen so far.
Before coming to this unit with a brilliant battle record, Paulus had thought many times about the style of his future commander, but he never thought even if he died that this commander was more like an assault squad leader than a commander...
"We must find a way to stop this kind of behavior!"
Manstein threw the pencil in his hand onto the map and said through gritted teeth:
"When this battle is over, we must report to the Army Group Headquarters to lock His Excellency the Lieutenant Colonel in the Regimental Headquarters, not allowing him to go anywhere!"
Although they complained bitterly, the two actually knew Morin's individual combat power very well.
They also knew that he could indeed "swim like a dragon" in the trenches, which was considered the strongest and most direct support for the frontline troops—it was a powerful catalyst that could crush enemy morale and maximize friendly morale.
As long as that figure was still standing in the trench, the instruction unit would absolutely not retreat a single half-step.
"Forget it, we'll talk about these things later... Since the regimental commander likes being the vanguard, we will act as a solid backing for him."
Kleist quickly regained his calm. Based on the situation Jonathan had just explained, he carefully looked a few more times at the map Manstein had just updated.
Compared to the friendly forces on the two flanks still entangled with the Britannian Expeditionary Force, the instruction unit, with the assistance of the 93rd Infantry Regiment, had basically retaken the first firing trench and was currently defending against the Britannian Expeditionary Force's second wave of attacks.
Considering that the 1st and 2nd Battalions probably also suffered certain losses after retaking the trench, and ammunition was also consumed quite a bit...
Kleist looked at Jonathan again.
"Your 3rd Battalion is currently in the best condition. Scrape together two reinforced companies, the key point is to bring flamethrowers, and immediately go reinforce the 1st and 2nd Battalions in the first trench. Stabilize the position, and then you must bring the regimental commander back!"
"Yes!"
The first firing trench was also the location of the fiercest fighting right now.
Morin did not know that his two "capable lieutenants" in the rear were plotting how to "imprison" him in the Regimental Headquarters. At this moment, he was in a very special state.
After continuously casting a large number of spells, Morin found his body starting to secrete a massive amount of adrenaline. His whole person became increasingly excited, displaying the posture of fighting braver the more he fought.
He had just completed a jump between the Ethereal Plane and the real world. The muzzles of the double-barreled shotgun were still emitting green smoke, and two new corpses lay at his feet.
And just then, a burst of dense gunfire sounded from behind like popping beans.
"Da-da-da! Da-da-da!"
That wasn't the slow sound of the Britannians' Lee-Enfield rifles, but the unique continuous firing sound of the MG14 machine gun, mixed with the crisp bursts of the MP14 submachine gun.
That was the sound of their own people.
The support of the instruction unit had arrived.
Those two reinforced companies of the 3rd Battalion, after converging with the main force of the 1st Battalion, crashed into the battlefield like a herd of bulls breaking into a china shop with an overbearing momentum.
If in open ground, the Britannian soldiers holding bolt-action rifles might still be able to kite utilizing range and numerical advantages.
But in this kind of trench warfare where the distance between the two sides was less than fifty meters at this moment, the dominance of automatic firepower was absolute.
The dense rain of bullets poured out like the autumn wind sweeping away fallen leaves, instantly routing a swath of expeditionary force soldiers who hadn't had time to find cover.
Those ordinary infantrymen who originally still tried to support the "Spell Jaegers," under this unreasonable firepower coverage, could only be desperately suppressed in the corners of the trenches one by one, unable to even lift their heads.
"Suppressive fire! Grenades!"
Following an order, dozens of stick grenades immediately whistled through mid-air and fell into the area where the Britannians gathered.
"Boom! Boom! Boom!"
The continuous explosions kicked up bloody mud waves, and severed limbs danced in the smoke and dust.
And this was only the beginning. Flamethrower teams also arrived at this trench one by one. After confirming there were no friendly units ahead, dragons of fire spewed out.
As more and more instruction unit troops closed in, those "Spell Jaegers" and Heavy Armor Sergeants who originally were still struggling to support also met their doomsday.
Although the thick plate armor on the Heavy Armor Sergeants could block shrapnel, the shockwaves generated by those close-range explosions still shook them so much their mouths and noses bled. The originally tight formation was instantly blasted to pieces.
"Damn it! How did their reinforcements arrive so fast?!"
"Pops" lay in a crater, suppressed so much he simply couldn't lift his head.
If it were a shootout in the open ground, he had full confidence in using the specially modified Lee-Enfield rifle in his hands to suppress these Saxon soldiers.
But at close range, the automatic weapons in the opponent's hands were still too authoritative...
A few stray bullets hit the dirt next to him, splashing mud and sand all over his face.
"Pops" wiped the mud and sand off his face and glanced around.
Of the five Spell Jaegers he brought, only one was left who could still breathe.
And although two of those Heavy Armor Sergeants responsible for cover still possessed combat capability, under this density of firepower coverage, they had basically lost the power to fight back.
The mission failed.
As an old hunter with a fairly keen sense of smell, "Pops" knew very well when to advance and when to retreat.
"We need to withdraw." He said in a low voice into the communication stone.
Hearing this, those two surviving Heavy Armor Sergeants didn't hesitate at all, not even turning their heads for a glance. They stood up from behind cover, let out a beast-like roar, and braving the dense rain of bullets, launched a final charge toward Morin's direction.
This was an unwritten rule of the "Spell Jaeger" unit—when a mission fails and someone must retreat, the heavy armor units are responsible for covering the rear.
They must use their lives to buy a few seconds of escape time for these two last spellcasters.
Because the training cost of mages is always higher than warriors.
"Go!"
"Pops" and the other surviving Jaeger did not waste the opportunity their comrades bought with their lives.
Although the two sides had long established an extremely deep friendship during these years of joint training, in this situation, "Pops" and the other "Spell Jaeger" also knew they couldn't waste the opportunity the other party fought for with their lives.
So still following the combat regulations, they cast [Expeditious Retreat] on themselves, then simultaneously tore open an [Invisibility] spell scroll, and quickly disengaged from combat to withdraw.
The scrolls tore, and magic surged.
The figures of the two instantly faded in the air until they completely disappeared, leaving only two lines of rapidly distancing shallow footprints on the muddy ground.
On the other side, looking at those two heavy armor cans covered in blood but still roaring and charging up, Morin frowned.
"Being partial to certain subjects kills people..."
To counter high-tier mages that might appear, he specially prepared a bunch of "anti-magic gift packages." As a result, facing these two thick-skinned iron cans now, he didn't have suitable spells to deal with them.
He could only rely on the hard killing of the scattergun buffed with [Magic Weapon]...
And at this time, the magical radiance on the shotgun barrels had already begun to dim.
"Tsk, Magic Weapon is gone, can only hard-kill..."
Morin glanced at a row of countdowns right below his field of vision. Among them, the countdown for the Buff representing [Magic Weapon] had ticked down its last few seconds and then directly disappeared.
He immediately reached his left hand into another multi-purpose pouch on his chest rig, pulled out a piece of pre-cut licorice root, stuffed it into his mouth, and the tip of his tongue felt that trace of faint sweetness.
The unique herbal smell also quickly began to permeate his oral cavity. This was the casting material for the Tier-3 spell [Haste].
A rapid incantation spat from his mouth, followed by an electric-like numbness instantly spreading through his whole body. The surrounding world seemed to slow down at this instant.
The falling smoke and dust, the mouth shapes of distant soldiers when they shouted, and even the charging movements of those two Heavy Armor Sergeants, were all sluggish like a slow-motion movie shot.
Only Morin himself still maintained normal or even faster speed.
"Bang!"
First shot.
The last slug in the barrel blasted the knee joint of a Heavy Armor Sergeant.
Although without the "enchantment," the slug didn't directly penetrate that thick knee armor, the huge impact force directly caused the sergeant's leg bone to emit an overwhelmed cracking sound.
That massive body stumbled. Before he could steady his center of gravity, Morin's figure had already flashed to his rear flank.
Bending the barrel to eject the casing, Mage Hand skillfully pushed two new rounds of ammunition into the barrels.
"Crack!"
"Bang! Bang!"
Two close-range shots to the back.
This time, the aim was the gap at the connection between the helmet and breastplate.
Even plate armor crafted by magic artisans couldn't possibly protect all joints perfectly.
With two muffled sounds, that Heavy Armor Sergeant seemed to have his spine pulled out and crashed to the ground.
Seeing this, the other Heavy Armor Sergeant roared and pounced over, waving the already edge-rolled greatsword in his hand.
But the [Haste] buffed on him by the "Spell Jaegers" before the battle had long expired, so in Morin's eyes now, his movements were as slow as doing Tai Chi.
Face-to-face accelerated sprint... side step... slide tackle... turn around.
At this instant, Morin seemed to be dancing on the tip of a knife.
After sliding past the opponent's side, taking advantage of the opponent not having time to turn around, his muzzle almost pressed against the weak point of the armor under the opponent's armpit.
"Bang!"
The trigger was pulled.
The slug shot in from the armpit, the resulting cavity effect directly crushing this Heavy Armor Sergeant's heart and half a lung.
The battle ended.
With the unwilling fall of the last enemy, this section of the trench finally restored a brief calm.
Morin leaned against the slippery dirt wall, panting heavily.
The 1-minute duration effect of [Haste] just ended, followed by a wave of intense fatigue and muscle soreness, like he had just finished running a marathon.
He spat out the chewed-up licorice root on the ground, looking with somewhat complex eyes at those instruction unit soldiers clearing the battlefield around, and those few General's Guard soldiers being carried by stretcher-bearers... actually being dragged down.
"Regimental Commander! Are you alright?!"
Rommel, who hurried over to support after rallying the troops, rushed over carrying a mud-covered MP14. His face was full of soot and smoke marks, and his eyes held both worry and fanaticism.
"I'm fine, won't die."
Morin waved his hand, forcing himself to stand up straight.
"Have everyone hurry up and reinforce the fortifications, the Britannians' attack isn't over yet..."
As he spoke, he pulled his military canteen from his back, only to find that it had been pierced at some point, and the clean drinking water inside had long leaked out.
"Right, go find some more water for me."
"Drink mine, Regimental Commander!!"
At the same time, on this fierce battle line, as time passed, the balance of the entire battle situation also began to tilt towards the Saxon side.
After completing that highly targeted round of "counter-battery combat," the artillery cluster of the First Army Group finally freed up its hands and began to carry out devastating strikes against the expeditionary force's subsequent attacking echelons.
"Rumble..."
Various types of shells, 77mm, 105mm, and 150mm, smashed onto the expeditionary force's attack route like they were free.
The massive attacking formations of the Britannian Expeditionary Force were forcefully cut off under such dense firepower coverage. The originally menacing offensive instantly disintegrated.
After all, an attack by over a hundred thousand troops cannot be completed in a short time but needs to be divided into multiple waves to attack.
And once interrupted in the middle, the rhythm and effectiveness of the attack will be greatly affected.
Under these circumstances, the Saxon First Army Group, which adopted defensive counterattacks, also gradually stabilized its positions and began to counterattack.
The switch between offense and defense happened in an instant.
Several kilometers away, the frontline command post of the Britannian Expeditionary Force.
The binoculars in the hands of the Expeditionary Force Commander, Field Marshal of the Imperial Army John French, were trembling slightly.
Through the lenses, he clearly saw how their own offensive was thwarted, and how those Saxons counterattacked back like a gray tide.
And the battle situation reports sent back earlier also let him know that the Order of the Garter, which had undergone "armed upgrades," once again suffered heavy losses at the hands of the Teutonic Knights.
"The battle situation is too disadvantageous for our warriors! We must regroup the troops..."
John French muttered to himself, his face ashen.
He knew very well that if the first line of defense couldn't be taken down, or even got pushed back by the Saxons, the entire battle line of the expeditionary force would collapse.
And once the battle line collapsed, this expeditionary force under his command, even if they could retreat to the coastline, would suffer a great loss of vitality, and might even be driven into the sea to feed the fish.
The other staff officers in the frontline command post naturally knew this very well too. They also realized that it was no longer possible to solve the problem through conventional means, so feelings of loss and depression spread in the command post.
But just then, an old yet authoritative voice sounded from the corner.
"Your Excellency the Field Marshal, it seems you need some help."
John French lowered his binoculars and turned around.
The speaker was an old man wearing a deep purple robe. He had been sitting in the shadows of the frontline command post, resting with his eyes closed, as if the artillery fire filling the sky had nothing to do with him.
And he was the existence sent by the Highland Mage Order as the highest combat power of the expeditionary force. In the mage community of this world, he belonged to the T1 tier—Tier-8 Transmutation Archmage, Abernathy.
"Master Abernathy..."
John French hesitated for a moment, and finally spoke:
"Your power, I originally intended to use it to secure victory... But now, perhaps we can only rely on you to save the battle situation!"
Abernathy stood up slowly, the staff inlaid with a huge sapphire in his hand tapping gently on the ground.
"Understood, regroup the troops, Your Excellency the Field Marshal... I will buy enough time for you."
After saying that, Master Abernathy led two other mages out of the frontline command post. The three quickly took to the air and flew toward the battle line where the rout was occurring ahead.
Sometime later, Morin, who was resting and recovering his stamina, suddenly felt a massive, suffocating magical fluctuation frantically spreading in all directions from a certain location on the Britannian position.
Even the distant sound of artillery fire seemed to be temporarily suppressed by this terrifying coercive pressure.
"Why is the temperature dropping again..."
Morin suddenly shivered, and then gradually realized that this sudden drop in temperature seemed to somewhat violate physical common sense.
Immediately after, a huge circular area with a radius of 2.5 kilometers also appeared on the system map.
And a message brushed out by the system also made Morin instantly realize that things were bad.
[Warning: Tier-8 Transmutation spell detected—"Weather Control"]