"Achoo!"
In the artillery command post of the Saxon First Army Group, Colonel Metz, standing in front of the observation slit, sneezed.
He rubbed his nose, muttered a few words, and then raised his binoculars to continue staring at the distant sky.
Although it was only just noon at this time, the sky was already as gloomy as evening.
In the distance, that cloud mass covering half the sky and still continuously spinning and expanding was like a huge millstone, slowly grinding this battlefield bit by bit.
The howling wind, wrapping ice crystals, battered the lens glass of the binoculars, making crackling sounds.
"Sir, orders from the Army Group Command. They said Lieutenant Colonel Morin of the instruction unit requested fire coverage on the position of the enemy mages. He said there's at least a Tier-8 mage casting a spell there... Do we need to confirm it as well?"
An artillery staff officer, clutching a telephone receiver, looked somewhat hesitantly at his commander.
After all, according to procedures, this kind of cross-level mobilization of the army group's heavy artillery was against regulations.
Colonel Metz lowered his binoculars, glanced back at the still-hesitating artillery staff officer, his voice cold and hard: "What else needs confirming? Look for yourself... And this temperature drop was sudden, obviously abnormal..."
He pointed to the huge weather anomaly in the distance and continued:
"Furthermore, the position of this 'cloud' happens to be right on the main axis of our offensive. If we don't find a way to resolve this obviously abnormal weather, our attack will definitely be hindered! Did Command provide coordinates?"
"Yes, sir! However, these precise coordinates were also provided by Lieutenant Colonel Morin..."
The artillery staff officer nodded, then read out the coordinates Morin had stated.
Such precise coordinates actually surprised Colonel Metz somewhat. He hadn't expected Morin to know such infantry-artillery coordination.
Because previously, when providing support to frontline troops, they rarely received such precise coordinates; it was basically just suppressive fire on a target area.
"No need for spotting rounds. Once the artillery group is ready, directly cover this area!"
"Yes!"
Colonel Metz wasn't an inflexible blockhead.
As a senior artillery commander, he had his own judgment of the battlefield situation.
Although he didn't know the specific mechanics of [Weather Control], he knew that as long as it was a spell, it needed a spellcaster.
Then leveling the area where the spellcaster was located would force any spell to stop.
However, he naturally couldn't have all the artillery attack the coordinates provided by Morin either. After all, the frontline counterattack hadn't stopped, and the various units had a high demand for artillery fire support.
So he quickly mobilized two 150mm howitzers, a battalion of 105mm howitzers, and a battalion of 77mm field guns to begin suppressive fire on the coordinates provided by Morin.
Within the [Weather Control] spell range, the central casting point.
This was a small high ground that had originally been almost leveled by artillery fire, and at this moment, it had also become the eye of the storm for the entire battlefield.
Centered here, terrifying magical fluctuations were continuously radiating outwards, and the temperature had dropped to a degree that would make the Lucians feel very familiar.
Master Abernathy stood on a relatively flat piece of ground, his eyes slightly closed, the top of the staff in his hands flashing with dazzling pale blue light.
His purple robe flapped loudly in the howling wind, but his entire person remained completely motionless, as if he had already merged with the sky full of wind and snow.
Beside him, two middle-aged mages wearing gray robes were vigilantly watching their surroundings.
As assistants personally selected and brought to Gaul by Master Abernathy, they had only one mission—to protect Master Abernathy and ensure he completed the casting of the high-tier spell if necessary.
One of them held a pinch of powder ground from pure gemstones, while the other's hand continuously maintained a certain ready stance.
"Here they come."
A gray-robed mage suddenly looked up toward the sky to the southwest.
A mage's senses, surpassing those of ordinary people, allowed him to quickly notice that unique whistling sound tearing through the howling wind and snow, becoming increasingly clear.
That was the sound of artillery shells piercing the air.
But even so, this mage didn't panic at all, but relatively calmly and quickly completed the casting.
Just at the instant the first shell was about to land, he thrust his right hand upward and spat out a brief, powerful syllable from his mouth.
Tier-5 Evocation spell—[Wall of Force].
"Buzz"
An invisible magical reaction instantly spread outward, centered on the three of them.
Almost at the same time, the first 150mm high-explosive howitzer shell smashed fiercely less than thirty meters away from them.
"Boom!!"
A massive explosion shook the earth. An orange-red fireball shot into the sky, and countless scorching hot shrapnel mixed with chunks of frozen dirt flew in all directions.
Immediately followed by the second, the third...
Dense artillery shells fell like raindrops, instantly turning this small high ground into a churning sea of fire.
The shockwaves generated by the explosions blew away all the surrounding snow and dirt. Black smoke billowed, blotting out the sky and sun.
However, right in the center of this devastating strike, there was a completely unaffected area.
A transparent sphere with a radius of about three meters stood quietly in the sea of fire.
No matter how violent the explosions outside were, or how much shrapnel crashed against this sphere, it remained completely motionless.
Those shockwaves, enough to overturn an Armored Knight, upon contacting this transparent Wall of Force, were like ocean waves crashing against a reef, only able to helplessly part to the sides.
Inside the Wall of Force, Master Abernathy didn't even bat an eyelid. The clamor outside seemed to be in a different world from him.
He still maintained that posture, focusing on channeling that massive Tier-8 spell, as if returning to his childhood, recklessly smearing the colors of severe cold across this world.
And the gray-robed mage who cast [Wall of Force] glanced at the casting material slowly burning in his hand, calmly evaluating the spell's remaining time.
[Wall of Force] is the sturdiest defensive spell in the Evocation school, bar none.
During the spell's 10-minute duration, nothing can physically pass through the Wall of Force. The Wall of Force is immune to all damage and cannot be dispelled by Dispel Magic.
Unless the opponent has a high-tier mage capable of casting [Disintegrate], or uses an Antimagic Field of equal strength to neutralize it, it's impossible to destroy it purely by physical bombardment.
Of course, this didn't mean it was invincible.
Maintaining the Wall of Force required the caster's concentration, and the most crucial point was that the 10-minute duration was indeed a bit short.
About six minutes later, the first round of rapid fire ended.
Before the gunpowder smoke dispersed, a Saxon artillery observation balloon in the distance was struggling to adjust its angle in the wind and snow, trying to confirm the damage effect.
"Damn it! I can't see anything! The smoke and the snowstorm are too heavy!"
The observer in the balloon basket held his binoculars, cursing under his breath.
But he quickly discovered a more obvious fact—that weather control spell hadn't stopped.
The massive cloud vortex in the sky was still spinning, and the temperature was still dropping.
"The spell has not been terminated! Repeat! The spell has not been terminated! Requesting continued fire!"
The observer's voice transmitted to the ground via telephone line, and then back to the artillery command post via another dedicated line.
Colonel Metz closed his eyes somewhat painfully—for an artillery commander, there was nothing more uncomfortable than ineffective artillery fire.
"How can they tank so much... Are these Britannian mages all turtles?!"
This army group artillery commander thought it might be because the firepower wasn't enough, so he began to mobilize more artillery to join the attack, and had an officer try to communicate via radio to bring armored trains and armored airships into the battle.
In the basic command post of the instruction unit, Morin, like everyone else in the command post, was wrapped in a relatively clean blanket, staring at the system map while shivering.
The radiant crystal heater had been turned up to maximum power, finally driving away some of the chill.
On the system map, the area representing the area of effect of [Control Weather] didn't show any signs of shrinking for the time being.
"Sure enough, it's not that easy."
Morin puffed out a breath of white mist. He could guess the methods of these high-tier mages. Reaching that level, who wouldn't have a few life-saving trump cards?
"Sir, this... this is too cold."
Kleist and the others were also huddled nearby wrapped in blankets at this moment. It was their first time experiencing the "baptism" of a Tier-8 spell, and it could be considered intuitively experiencing the strength of a high-tier mage.
After chatting with them for a few sentences and telling them to stay warm, Morin also stepped out of the basic command post to take a look at the surrounding soldiers.
Those Saxon boys who originally had high morale were now huddled near the radiant crystal heaters in the trenches one by one, their eyebrows and beards all white. Many people's hands were already frozen stiff, unable to even make the motion of pulling a trigger.
If it were a normal winter, everyone could still tough it out.
But this was extreme cold created by magic, with extremely strong penetrating power. Ordinary clothing simply couldn't completely fend it off.
"This battle... can't be fought."
This thought flashed through Morin's mind. Then he ducked back into the command post, preparing to have logistics figure out a way to get more heating equipment up here.
Just then, a signalman handed over the telephone receiver.
"Sir! Call from Army Group Command! It's General Mackensen!"
Hearing this, Morin immediately picked up the receiver.
"Morin! How's the situation on your end?!"
On the other end of the phone, General Mackensen's voice sounded somewhat distorted.
Clearly, this old general who had just rushed back from the front line was also terribly bothered by this sudden extreme weather.
Morin: "Very unoptimistic, General! This extreme cold weather came too suddenly. We are not prepared to fend off this degree of low temperature. If we continue to tough it out on the positions, even if the Britannians don't attack, we will suffer heavy losses due to non-combat attrition!"
There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.
Although General Mackensen had a tough personality, he was no fool. At the forward observation post, he had seen with his own eyes how that storm, like a white Grim Reaper, swallowed the battlefield.
"Damn Highland Mages..."
The old general's voice came through, gnashing his teeth. Then he turned back to ask the staff officer from the Operations Department:
"The artillery is already attacking those coordinates, how is the effect?"
"Still attacking! But it hasn't taken effect yet!"
Upon hearing his words, Morin continued: "General! That's a Tier-8 spell! The ones guarding the caster are definitely not ordinary mages; they have many ways to block artillery fire! Unless we can exhaust the magic reserves of that 'turtle shell,' the shells won't land on their heads at all!"
"Exhaust? How long will that take?"
"Under normal circumstances, if two Tier-5 mages take turns casting [Wall of Force], plus a sufficient number of spell scrolls... they can hold out for at least four hours! Or even longer!"
Four hours.
General Mackensen's heart sank; this was obviously bad news.
Staying in this freezing hell akin to Siberia for four hours, the elite infantry of the First Army Group would probably all turn into popsicles.
General Mackensen sighed, his tone revealing a deep unwillingness: "We managed to seize this opportunity for a counterattack with great difficulty. We were on the verge of completely tearing apart the expeditionary force's first line of defense..."
"General, there are still battles to be fought, but once people die, they're gone."
Morin calmly persuaded: "The Britannians are trading magic for time. They definitely know they can't stop our counterattack, which is why they sent out that Tier-8 mage to change the weather."
"If we forcefully attack against the wind and snow now, not only will we be unable to expand our battle results, but we will bury our main forces in the snow. At that time, offense and defense will swap, and we will be the ones to suffer."
The other end of the phone fell silent again.
After quite a while, General Mackensen's tired yet authoritative voice sounded again.
"This time, your thoughts happen to coincide with Seeckt's..."
"Pass down the order."
"Cease the attack across the entire line."
"All units shrink the defense line immediately, transition to defense on the spot. The logistics department send up all cold-weather supplies, prioritizing the frontline troops."
"Also..."
The old general paused, then continued: "Tell the artillery not to stop. Keep bombing them hard for me, don't let them have it too comfortable! Creating even a little trouble for them is good!"
"Understood, General!" the surrounding staff officers answered.
Some time later, an armored airship that was the first to transfer over was adjusting its posture in the howling wind outside the spell's range. Although the effective range of [Weather Control] was only a circular area 5 kilometers in diameter, there was also some impact outside this "circle."
Under the helmsman's control, the armored airship slowly adjusted its posture. The four twin-linked gun turrets below also completed their rotation, and upon the captain's order, fired toward the coordinate position.
"Boom-boom-boom!!"
The earth trembled again.
Even from a few kilometers away, Morin could still feel the power of that explosion.
But on the system map, that red dot representing the enemy spellcaster still glowed stubbornly.
Those two Tier-5 mages were obviously risking their lives, continuously taking turns casting [Wall of Force].
And besides the preparations in their spell slots, they also brought a large number of [Wall of Force] scrolls.
Because the Highland Mage Order actually knew very well the flaw of a sustained spell like [Weather Control], which was that the spellcaster couldn't move and could only act as a live target on the spot.
In the past, the long-range strike capability of conventional forces couldn't pose much of a threat to mages.
But now, the artillery of various countries... especially the development speed of the Saxon Empire in terms of artillery, exceeded everyone's imagination.
If there were no countermeasures, even a Tier-9 mage would fall under artillery coverage.
That was why the Highland Mage Order had these two accompanying Tier-5 mages carry a large number of protective spell scrolls to protect Master Abernathy while casting.
However, the duration of one [Wall of Force] is only 10 minutes. This also means that [Wall of Force] needs to be cast six times per hour to seamlessly connect.
And if they wanted to hold out through the entire [Control Weather], they needed to cast at least 48 [Wall of Force] spells.
Setting aside whether the three of them could hold out here for 8 hours, just regarding the [Wall of Force] spell alone, even counting the spell scrolls they carried, they could only seamlessly maintain it for four hours.
But for the Britannian Expeditionary Force, four hours was enough for them to catch their breath and regroup their forces.
This was exactly Master Abernathy's plan—to buy enough time for the Expeditionary Force Commander, Field Marshal John French, and he indeed accomplished this.
The defense line that had originally been routed by the Saxon assault troops finally got a chance to breathe.
Those scattered troops began to regroup in the rear. The soldiers, who were equally shivering with cold, evacuated the spell's area of effect and were stuffed into bunkers and houses in the rear to get warm.
Field Marshal John French stood in the command post, looking at the wind and snow filling the sky outside the window. Although his complexion was still unsightly, there was an added trace of relief in his eyes.
"Thanks to Master Abernathy..." he muttered in a low voice, "he saved the entire expeditionary force."
On the Saxon side, the frontline soldiers who received orders to stop the attack were cursing this damn weather, shivering while digging windbreak holes in the trenches, using everything they could find to block the vents.
Morin huddled in the command post, holding a cup of hot coffee, staring blankly at the map.
The offensive of the Saxon First Army Group ultimately slowed down under the influence of the increasingly extreme weather.
The "defensive counterattack" plan initially formulated by General Mackensen was also temporarily shelved.
Although General Mackensen knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to let them rout the Britannian Expeditionary Force in one fell swoop, the accompanying risks right now also exceeded the initial expectations of the army group's high command.
The situation on the Eastern Front had already begun to worsen. The Empire currently faced the risk of a two-front war, and the encirclement of the Gallic Republic's last fresh troops by the Southern Army Group was still ongoing.
Whether these troops were annihilated or the Gauls surrendered, it all needed time.
So General Mackensen knew very well that even if the First Army Group here couldn't severely damage the Britannians, nothing could go wrong.
Although his combat style had always been relatively aggressive, this didn't mean this old general wouldn't think... Not to mention there was a staff group led by Army Group Chief of Staff General Seeckt capable of applying the brakes in time.
Thus, the First Army Group once again fell into a stalemate with the Britannian Expeditionary Force.
"Is this the so-called 'Western Front Curse'..." Morin couldn't help but sigh.
No matter what kind of new weapons both sides threw in, no matter how tactics innovated, even magic was used.
But ultimately, the battle line would return to the starting point, deadlocked here.
No one could devour the other party in one bite.
As long as one side's momentum was too fierce, the other side would bring out their bottom-of-the-box methods to maintain balance...
That ice storm, worthy of being recorded in military history, ultimately lasted for about 4 hours, just as Morin expected.
Both sides tacitly ceased large-scale military operations. After all, in weather where even taking a piss could freeze into a popsicle, making soldiers climb out of trenches to charge was simply murder.
But this didn't mean the war stopped; it just continued in other ways.
Over the next two weeks, the instruction unit's defense zone became the liveliest place in the entire First Army Group.
With no combat missions temporarily, the instruction unit also began to do its "proper job."
Because in previous battles, the "assault companies" trained by various units indeed had good effects, so under orders from the First Army Group Command, the various main infantry battalions, acting as basic tactical units, began to form their own "assault companies."
Morin also led the instruction unit to train personnel and build the framework for "assault companies" for these battalion-level units.
And with the Mauser Company and the Saxon Weapons and Munitions Factory forming a military-industrial alliance with the Schmeisser Company, the production of light machine guns and submachine guns also greatly increased, and deliveries to frontline troops became faster and faster.
This afternoon, Morin had just returned from the temporary training ground behind the trenches, and was discussing adjustments to the training syllabus with several clerks. Paulus, who was holding the fort at the command post, suddenly walked in.
"Sir, the liaison officer from Army Group Command brought a few people."
"Hmm?"
Morin casually said while unfastening the chest rig on his body:
"Logistics? If it's supply delivery, just look for Kleist directly."
"Not logistics..." Paulus's expression was somewhat strange, "They said they're from the Army General Staff, and... they don't look quite like ordinary officers."
Morin raised his eyebrows.
People from the General Staff?
He waved his hand signaling the others to dismiss the meeting first, then straightened his uniform: "Let them in."
A moment later, three officers wearing dark gray military overcoats walked in.
The leader was a major, with a gaunt figure but extremely sharp eyes, looking very much like a vulture.
Upon entering and seeing Morin, his face showed joy, and he quickened his pace to walk over.
"Lieutenant Colonel Friedrich Morin?"
The major took off his leather gloves and executed a standard Saxon military salute.
"I am Walter Nicolai, from Department III of the Army General Staff."
"Wait... Department III? Is there such a department?"
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel! It's normal that you don't have an impression of it, because Department III was also established not long ago... These are my credentials, you may look them over."
As Walter Nicolai spoke, he proactively handed his credentials to Morin.
Morin took his credentials and looked at them. There was indeed the embossed seal of the Army General Staff on it.
And most importantly, the special unit card on the system map was indeed blue, representing friendly forces.
"So it's Major Nicolai."
Morin returned the salute, asking calmly:
"May I know what brings the gentlemen from Department III here? Could there be a spy in my defense zone?"
"Of course not. I didn't expect Lieutenant Colonel Morin to be a person who likes joking."
Major Nicolai smiled, then waved his hand. An adjutant behind him immediately brought out a black briefcase, pulled out a document from inside, and handed it over.
"Lieutenant Colonel, we are here for a person."
Major Nicolai's voice was kept very low, carrying a sense of mystery.
"Do you remember that Britannian Major you captured when leading your troops in a surprise attack during the Battle of Liège Fortress a few months ago?"