Chapter 563: "Reciprocity"

Kyiv outer urban zone, west bank.

As the smoke wall reached the outskirts of Kyiv, the elite infantry of the White Army's Center Army, following the "Linebreaker" Armored Knights, had already breached the outer defensive perimeter and pushed into the city proper.

The breach was almost too smooth, raising the suspicions of some White Army frontline commanders. However, with friendly forces already surging into the city around them, they couldn't halt the offensive now. They could only bite the bullet and press deeper into the urban sprawl.

The twelve "Linebreakers," split into four squads, simultaneously breached the residential districts in southwestern Kyiv from four directions.

The architecture here consisted mostly of three-to-four-story brick buildings. The streets weren't overly narrow, barely accommodating the six-meter-tall behemoths.

Yet, no "Linebreaker" dared walk flush against the buildings. Everyone stayed as far from the walls as possible, continuously using external loudspeakers to warn the accompanying infantry to watch the surrounding windows.

The reason was simple: the Center Army was not the Southern Army.

As Kolchak's premier force, they had suffered heavily against the Provisional Government's National Army in previous months from bizarre weaponry—and more than once.

Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov, the pilot of the lead machine in the Armored Knight squad currently pushing down this street, still vividly recalled an urban battle in another captured city two months prior.

His comrade was piloting a "Linebreaker" down a narrow alley when a burst of fire suddenly erupted from a second-story window, detonating squarely against the Armored Knight's back.

The "Linebreaker's" rear armor was burned through with a fist-sized hole. The pilot was instantly half-roasted by the superheated jet of molten metal that poured into the cockpit.

Afterward, they dug a severely scorched iron pipe out of the rubble. The Britannian military advisors looked grim upon inspecting it, stating it was "some sort of anti-armor technology utilized by the Saxon Armored Knight forces."

Since then, an unspoken rule was established within the Center Army's Armored Knight units: When engaging in urban combat, never allow your flanks or rear to near any buildings.

This was because the weapons used by the Rebels had a glaring weakness: their effective range and impact angle were extremely strict.

Triggered too far or too close, or at the wrong angle, and the armor-piercing effect plummeted.

In several ambushes, "Linebreakers" were hit, but due to incorrect detonation timing, the attacks only left scorch marks and shallow craters on the armor surface without achieving penetration.

Thus, Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov stared intensely at the windows on both sides of the street.

Visibility was still poor. Though the smoke wall hadn't fully engulfed the inner city, the drifting smoke significantly reduced their line of sight.

The War Alchemy meant to cover the White Army's assault was now providing cover for the "Rebels" within the city.

"Watch your flanks!" he shouted to the other pilots via the comms stone. "Stay away from the buildings! Keep to the center of the street!"

"Maintain at least a five-meter distance from all windows!"

"Yes, My Lord!"

The two "Linebreakers" following him answered in unison.

This three-machine squad was providing cover for roughly two companies of White Army infantry pushing deep into the urban zone.

Massive metal feet slammed onto the cobblestone streets; every step rattled the glass windows of the surrounding buildings.

Just as Ivanov's "Linebreaker" rounded the third corner, a flash of fire erupted from the basement window of an apartment building to his front left.

Something flew at incredible speed, smashing against the armor on the outside of his left knee.

That familiar sound echoed inside the cockpit.

Hiss—!

Ivanov's heart leaped into his throat, but he quickly realized that while the leg armor had a shallow crater burned into it, it hadn't been penetrated.

The angle was wrong.

The attacker had clearly fired upward from the basement. The steep angle of elevation meant the superheated jet didn't strike the armor plate flush, but rather skipped off it diagonally.

But Ivanov felt no relief.

He snapped his heavy warhammer out from behind his shield. The magically expanded muscle bundles powered the mechanical arm's swing. The massive hammerhead smashed directly into the basement wall of the apartment building.

The entire basement collapsed under the blow.

Brick and stone exploded outward; dust choked half the street. The White Army infantry trailing behind instinctively ducked for cover.

"We have to watch the basements too..."

Ivanov steadied his mech, which had tipped forward slightly from the swing, muttering to himself.

"These Rebels truly have a death wish..."

On another street, the White Army's Squad Two wasn't as lucky.

While three "Linebreakers" covered a battalion of infantry pushing deeper into the city, the excessively narrow street forced them unavoidably close to the buildings on either side.

The "Linebreaker" at the rear rotated its upper torso, eyeing the buildings on its flank, carefully scanning the windows.

At that exact moment, the curtains on a second-floor balcony of a four-story building behind it parted slightly, and two strange-looking iron pipes poked out.

Thump! Thump!

Two improvised shaped-charge warheads—reverse-engineered by National Army arsenals from technology brought back by Bearded Andrei's International Brigade—struck the rear "Linebreaker" in the back almost simultaneously.

This time, the distance was point-blank, and the target was the unshielded rear armor.

Two jets of molten metal punched clean through the rear armor plating, pouring directly into the internal structures.

The "Linebreaker" looked like it had been stabbed in the back. It lurched forward heavily, then its legs buckled, and it collapsed onto its knees in the middle of the street.

The two National Army soldiers who launched the attack dropped their warped iron pipes without hesitation, turned, and bolted into the stairwell.

But they didn't make it.

Seeing his comrade fall, the pilot of the "Linebreaker" ahead immediately spun around and swept his heavy warhammer horizontally across the second floor where the fire originated.

The entire wall was obliterated. Most of the balcony and the third-floor structure collapsed under the immense force, bringing down a shower of bricks, stone, and the two soldiers.

The White Army infantry officer trailing behind cursed at the building, then ordered a squad into the partially collapsed ground floor to clear it.

Similar scenes were playing out simultaneously across multiple locations in Kyiv's outer urban zone.

The National Army soldiers knew the city they lived in like the back of their hands. They knew which building had a basement connecting to the next, which sewer line allowed them to flank the enemy, and which walls were thin enough to smash through for a quick escape.

Operating in teams of three to five, they dispersed throughout the buildings, hitting and running, never lingering for an extended fight.

This, too, was a tactic Bearded Andrei and his men brought back from the Aragon civil war.

Sometimes, just as White Army infantry cleared a building and breathed a sigh of relief, gunfire would erupt from the building next door.

By the time they rushed over, the attackers were gone, leaving behind only spent shell casings and fresh muddy footprints on the floorboards.

While this urban guerrilla warfare gave the White Army infantry massive headaches, the deployment of the Teutonic Order made the "Linebreakers'" situation even more passive.

The four Knight squadrons attached to the Saxon Eighth Army—thirty-six "Siegfried Mark I - Modified" mechs—were dispersed across key choke points within Kyiv.

Like Ludwig, they had received intelligence regarding the Rus "Orthodox Paladin Orders" from the Teutonic Order headquarters prior to arrival.

However, they were not equipped with the experimental "shaped-charge armor-piercing shells" issued to Ludwig's squadron. They still utilized the melee-oriented "shaped-charge anti-armor weapons."

This meant they had to engage the Russian "Linebreakers" in dangerous close-quarters combat.

Fortunately, the current "Linebreaker" pilots were on edge, terrified of ambushes from the surrounding buildings, and thus somewhat hesitant in their movements.

This provided the Teutonic Knights with opportunities to leverage the "Siegfried Mark I's" vastly superior mobility, utilizing the urban cover to close the distance rapidly and execute flanking maneuvers.

Once within melee range, they struck using handheld "shaped-charge lances," "armor-piercing warhammers," or the close-range anti-armor charges mounted on their leg armor, designed specifically to cripple enemy Armored Knights' legs.

This fighting style carried immense risk, but it proved surprisingly effective in an urban environment.

Less than half an hour into the urban combat, Lieutenant Colonel Ivanov had already been pincered by two Saxon Armored Knights once.

He was lucky this time...

While maintaining his shield stance, the enemy's armor-piercing lance struck his shield rather than his main armor. But the "Linebreaker" beside him wasn't as fortunate.

A "Siegfried Mark I - Modified" smashed straight through a half-destroyed building, charging past his comrade's right flank.

In that fleeting moment, a device mounted on the outside of the Saxon Armored Knight's right leg ejected a projectile that slammed directly into the gap of the "Linebreaker's" right knee joint.

Then came the familiar flash of fire and explosion. The "Linebreaker's" right leg was severed cleanly below the knee.

The massive, heavy steel body lost its support and crashed into a nearby building, instantly leveling the unfortunate brick structure.

Ivanov tried to pursue the two attacking Saxon Armored Knights, but they were at least twice as fast as him, and seemingly very accustomed to maneuvering in confined spaces. They vanished around the next corner in mere seconds.

"Don't chase them, My Lord!" Another pilot's anxious voice crackled through the comms stone. "You can't catch them!"

"Damn it!"

Ivanov cursed viciously. He stopped his pursuit and began attempting to help his downed comrade.

They couldn't catch them, and they couldn't hide from them. The urban zone was packed with buildings, dead ends, and blind spots.

For the relatively agile "Siegfried Mark I - Modified," this was a natural hunting ground. Once upon a time, facing the Britannian "St. George," the "Siegfried" series was the epitome of sluggishness.

But now, against the even more lumbering "Linebreakers," they found themselves playing the role the "Siegfrieds" used to occupy...

"All 'Linebreakers,' attention! Tighten formation! Do not get separated!"

Ivanov issued new orders. At least this way, he could ensure no one was isolated and picked off.

But this decision also meant the area they could cover for the advancing infantry was drastically reduced.

Deprived of the Armored Knights' cover, the White Army infantry had to face the National Army soldiers hidden in the buildings on their own.

The combat became increasingly fragmented and meatgrinder-esque, it had been less than two hours since the White Army launched their offensive.

Fierce fighting quickly erupted across the outer urban zone of Kyiv. The fortress area, conversely, was isolated.

Just as the Center Army's operational plan dictated, they bypassed the fortress, using the smoke cover to push rapidly into other sectors of the city.

This indeed allowed them to evade much of the fortress's heavy firepower. However, the combat resolve displayed by the National Army soldiers on the Kyiv frontline during this period far exceeded Kappel's initial estimates.

He had originally assumed that once his elite infantry and Armored Knights breached the city, these "Rebels" would—like the warlord forces they had defeated previously—offer brief resistance before scattering and routing.

Otherwise, these "Rebels" wouldn't have retreated all the way back to Kyiv in the first place...

But the reality was that the arrival of massive Saxon reinforcements had already boosted the morale of the Provisional Government's National Army. Furthermore, this was a battle for the survival of their capital.

And before the battle began, the numerous Bolshevik remnants within the Provisional Government had mobilized the National Army troops in the way they knew best...

Although the assassination incident remained an unsolved mystery and an untied knot between them and the Constitutionalists, facing this existential crisis, these people still stepped forward.

In short, every building and every street corner in the outer urban zone of Kyiv had become a battlefield.

The combat engineers dispatched by the Eighth Army caused the White Army endless grief.

Most of these combat engineers had been trained by instructors from the Instruction Brigade (the Instruction Brigade garrison always maintained a rear detachment for training and writing manuals). They wore "enchanted breastplates" developed from technology acquired from Gallic Cuirassiers, and carried submachine guns, shotguns, flamethrowers, and massive amounts of explosives.

Their combat style was extremely violent. Utilizing demolitions to flank through buildings, they fractured many White Army assault units and annihilated them one by one.

The sight of these soldiers wading through gunfire, continuously "harvesting" lives with submachine guns and shotguns, became the stuff of nightmares for the White Army soldiers in urban combat.

The White Army lost company after company in the urban zone. The casualty figures reported from the front began climbing at a rate that made command restless.

Soon, the frontline officers of the attacking White Army realized that forcing a crossing over the Dnieper River was merely the first hurdle in taking Kyiv.

The intensity of the urban combat on the outskirts alone exceeded their expectations.

These "Rebels" seemed to spring from the earth. A small squad would pop out of nowhere at any moment, clutching those crude iron pipe weapons, launching suicide attacks against the Armored Knights.

Their success rate wasn't high. Most attempts failed due to incorrect distance, poor angles, or being spotted and killed by White Army infantry beforehand.

But a single success meant a nearly thirty-ton "Linebreaker" losing its combat capability.

The expressions on the faces of those National Army soldiers as they attacked made Ivanov's scalp tingle inside his cockpit.

Their faces showed no calm or fear, only pure, unadulterated rage.

Clearly, they hated the White Army.

Hated them enough to charge a six-meter-tall steel giant with nothing but an iron pipe...

The concealment smoke wall generated by the White Army War Alchemists finally began to dissipate roughly two hours after it was formed.

The first to notice the change was an observer in the Pechersk Fortress watchtower.

The several-kilometer-long black curtain began thinning from the top. Its density plummeted within ten minutes, eventually leaving only a thin haze of gray fog hanging in the air.

"The smoke wall is dissipating! The smoke wall is dissipating!"

This news spread down the telephone lines across the entire defensive front, triggering various reactions in trenches and positions everywhere.

The Fortress Commander, who had been waiting at the periscope for so long, finally got a clear view of the east bank.

The muddy Dnieper River reappeared. The surface was littered with the remnants of pontoon bridges, floating planks, and capsized ferry boats.

But what caught his eye was that a significant number of those pontoon bridges remained intact.

The White Army engineers had indeed completed their mission. Under the cover of the smoke wall, at least six complete pontoon corridors spanned the Dnieper.

"Battery Four! Target confirmed—pontoon bridges on the river surface, coordinates..."

The fortress's coastal defense batteries could finally fire. Several large-caliber guns roared to life after over two hours of silence. Shells slammed into the river, kicking up massive plumes of water, while some landed with pinpoint accuracy on the pontoon bridges.

Wooden planks and pontoons were blasted to splinters, debris scattering across the water.

But it was a bit too late. The troops meant to cross had already crossed.

The main force of the White Army's Center Army had completed their crossing while the smoke wall was still thick. The surviving pontoon bridges were primarily handling the transport of follow-up ammunition and supplies.

Destroying them would certainly cause logistical difficulties for the White Army that had already crossed. But those elite units currently inside the west bank urban zone... weren't going to magically disappear just because their rear supply lines were cut, and they certainly wouldn't surrender without a fight.

Simultaneously, the L34 armored airship, having retreated away from the smoke wall, regained some of its ground support capability.

Although its spell shield was completely offline, and Lieutenant Colonel Franz dared not drop the airship to a lower altitude to risk even the slightest attack, bombarding from over a thousand meters up was still viable.

The 203mm naval guns had sufficient range, and with the smoke wall dissipating, the observation deck regained its view of the ground.

For the next hour or so, the L34's eight 203mm guns laid down continuous fire on the White Army's crossing corridors and east bank staging areas.

With every salvo, a sector on the east bank was engulfed in orange-red flames, followed by massive columns of smoke.

The White Army artillery positions on the east bank that hadn't relocated in time also suffered "retaliatory" strikes from the L34.

Lieutenant Colonel Franz clearly still harbored a grudge over those twenty-two Magic Crystal shells. He ordered the Gunnery Officer to repeatedly plow through any area that might conceal a Magic Crystal Cannon.

Whether they hit any Magic Crystal Cannons was impossible to say, because the enemy had gone radio silent after their initial strike, not even providing fire support for the front lines, making precise targeting by the observation deck impossible.

However, judging by the secondary fireball explosions rising from the ground, they had at least hit some ammunition dumps.

As the battle dragged into the afternoon, the gunfire across the battlefield began to thin.

This change wasn't sudden. It started with silence over the river, which gradually spread to the urban zones.

The White Army's attack tempo in the city noticeably slowed.

Orders from Kappel's forward command post—or rather, instructions cabled by Brusilov after learning of the morning's offensive and receiving the urgent telegram from the Southern Army—were quickly relayed to the frontline officers: "Halt deep advancement. Transition to defense in place. Secure occupied areas and await further orders."

When this order came down, the White Army infantry on the fringes of Kyiv practically breathed a collective sigh of relief.

It wasn't that they didn't want to fight, but if they kept going, their ammunition would dry up.

With the pontoon bridges destroyed, resupply from the rear wouldn't arrive anytime soon. The bullets in every soldier's pouches were dwindling at an alarming rate.

The National Army forces facing them weren't in much better shape.

Upon receiving combat reports from all frontline units, the Saxon Eighth Army Headquarters issued similar orders: halt counter-offensives, fortify existing defensive lines, and await further instructions.

The defenders' situation was equally grim.

Ammunition consumption was massive. Frontline company casualty rates universally exceeded twenty percent. Trenches and fortifications destroyed by the White Army in several sectors remained unrepaired.

More importantly, the L34 armored airship needed to use this window to pull back for emergency repairs.

To Lieutenant Colonel Franz, an armored airship without a spell shield was just an oversized balloon. Any sufficiently powerful shell hitting the hull could trigger a fatal chain reaction.

Before issuing the retreat order, Lieutenant Colonel Franz took one last look at the sky outside the bridge.

High in the distance, several planes chased and dogfought. The White Army's reconnaissance planes were being intercepted by the Eighth Army Aviation Squadron.

The L34 slowly banked, dragging its damaged hull—still leaking minor amounts of gas—toward the airspace above the city of Kyiv.

On the ground, soldiers from both sides on the Kyiv frontline sat with their backs against the trench walls.

The uninjured but mentally exhausted men lit cigarettes; the lightly wounded bandaged themselves.

But most simply tilted their heads back, staring blankly at the dogfight unfolding in the sky... Two "Fokker E.I"s were hounding a White Army reconnaissance plane. The obsolete recon plane jinked left and right, trying to shake its pursuers, but it was hopelessly outpaced.

"He's going down, he's going down..." someone muttered in the trench.

The White Army recon plane's left wing suddenly snapped. The entire aircraft tumbled toward the ground in a spin, smashing into a field on the east bank in a ball of fire.

A weak cheer rose from the National Army soldiers in the trench.

Some raised their canteens; others just smiled tiredly, lacking the strength to even make a sound.

Fighting a full morning of brutal urban combat and trench defense had left everyone exhausted.

Meanwhile, in the trenches occupied by the White Army on the outer perimeter, a White Army soldier also watched his side's plane crash.

He muttered a curse, ducked his head back down into the trench, and resumed gnawing on his rock-hard piece of black bread.

The first day of combat in Kyiv drew to a temporary close, with both sides utterly exhausted.

But everyone knew this was merely a pause, not the end.

Kyiv, Western Rus Provisional National Government General Staff Headquarters.

Alekseyev's command post was located in the basement of this requisitioned building. Thick concrete walls and packed earth perimeters provided adequate protection.

Once the day's fighting ground to a halt in the early afternoon, the National Army's Commander-in-Chief spent the hours until sunset processing combat reports from all sectors.

The Pechersk Fortress positions were largely intact, as the White Army had bypassed them.

In the southwestern urban sector, defenders engaged the White Army in four hours of street fighting. Casualties numbered around three thousand, but they inflicted heavier losses on the enemy. They captured nearly fifteen hundred White Army soldiers trapped inside the city, unable to break out.

Aside from the outer urban combat, the fiercest fighting occurred at the two broken bridges upstream and downstream of Kyiv.

These were vital hubs connecting the east and west banks of the Dnieper River, one even being a railway bridge.

When the Provisional Government retreated to Kyiv, they had no choice but to blow these two bridges to halt the White Army's advance.

But even so, the fighting here remained intense. The White Army attempted to seize the broken bridges to re-establish crossing corridors, and the National Army naturally fought to deny them.

The two sides exchanged fire across the broken bridges from makeshift cover. Simultaneously, the White Army also attempted forced crossings here...

Alekseyev pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair.

In short, the White Bandit Army's first day of offensive action, after a thunderous opening... ended somewhat abruptly.

But he knew today's attack for the White Army opposite them... or for his old friend Brusilov, was merely a massive probing action.

And the enemy had indeed succeeded in mapping out most of the National Army's positions and firepower deployments along the Dnieper River defense line through this method of "trading lives for intelligence."

They even scored the unexpected bonus of damaging the L34 armored airship.

Shortly after the fighting subsided, frontline sectors reported sightings of White Army aircraft.

When Alekseyev received this news in the command post, he looked at his staff and asked if his pre-battle prediction hadn't been spot on: once the enemy halted their attack, they would absolutely conduct secondary reconnaissance of the National Army's positions, just as they had before.

This was exactly Brusilov's style. When he held a numerical advantage, the enemy's positions would receive equally sustained, high-pressure attacks.

And you could never guess where the old general would commit his forces to launch the decisive blow...

As Alekseyev pondered this, the iron door of the basement swung open.

Kerensky strode in, wearing a gray suit. His stubbled face showed clear signs of exhaustion, but his pace was brisk. Upon entering, he pulled up a chair and sat directly opposite Alekseyev.

"It's settled with Petliura," Kerensky said, cutting straight to the chase.

Alekseyev paused his movements.

"He agreed?"

"The White Army reached his doorstep today. Do you think he'd keep dragging his feet?"

Kerensky pulled a heavily creased sheet of paper from his pocket and slapped it onto the desk.

"This is what he signed. He will operate under the unified command of the Provisional Government, immediately mobilize all available personnel, and receive weapons and ammunition from the Provisional Government for deployment to the Dnieper River defensive line.

Alekseyev picked up the paper, read it through, and set it down.

"Just this one piece of paper? Are you certain this so-called agreement will hold any water with him?"

Alekseyev's concern was justified. If Petliura pulled a stunt like "swearing an oath on the Dnieper River" later, it would be a massive headache for the Provisional Government to clean up.

Kerensky: "You can rest assured on that front. We have plenty of ways to keep him in check... But now is not the time to discuss that..."

Alekseyev fell silent, choosing not to press the issue, and finally asked a different question.

"The conditions?"

"The usual. Post-war autonomy," Kerensky shrugged. "It's not your first time hearing the 'national self-determination' rhetoric."

Alekseyev offered no comment; he had no desire to touch politics.

But right now, even if the fresh troops Petliura commanded could just plug the gaps in the defensive line, their impact on the overall situation would be immense.

"Troop strength? How many men can he muster?"

"Nearly 70,000. He showed considerable sincerity..."

Kerensky paused, then continued, "About 20,000 are Cossack cavalry. The rest are veterans and some militia. We can't expect a high level of training from them..."

70,000 men. Alekseyev couldn't help but recall the campaign concept proposed earlier.

And Kerensky was clearly thinking along the same lines. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his hands over his stomach.

"General Alekseyev."

"Yes."

"That campaign concept you mentioned before... the conditions are just about ripe now."

Alekseyev didn't answer immediately. He stood up, walked to the large operational map hanging on the wall, and silently stared at the meandering blue line of the Dnieper River.

"If we can concentrate a localized numerical superiority in a short timeframe and pierce the Southern Army's flank..." he finally spoke again.

"Cut off their communication with the Center Army... Denikin will be isolated in the Rzhyshchiv sector."

"When that happens, the unreinforced Southern Army will either have to retreat or be annihilated."

Sitting in his chair, Kerensky watched his back without a word. Alekseyev continued, his finger tracing from Rzhyshchiv toward Kyiv.

"And if the Center Army doesn't reinforce them, they'll have to accept the consequences of 140,000 troops being wiped out. If they do reinforce..."

"The pressure on Kyiv will be drastically reduced," Kerensky chimed in. "And they'll likely reinforce. Kolchak can't afford to screw over his ally at a time like this..."

Alekseyev turned around.

"You are bolder than I am, Prime Minister."

Kerensky shook his head helplessly. "If there were a safer, more effective method, I would certainly prioritize it... but there isn't."

He stood up, walked to the map, and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Alekseyev.

"The White Army has merely paused their offensive; they won't let it go... As you said yourself, Brusilov isn't the type to attack once and give up."

Kerensky voiced his thoughts. Once upon a time, he too had dreamed of commanding vast armies, but his talents in that area were admittedly limited.

"The next time they attack, they'll bring more Britannian toys... perhaps even new Armored Knights... We can't afford a war of attrition."

Alekseyev remained silent for a long time. In the isolated basement room, only the hum of some unknown machinery and the sound of their breathing could be heard.

"I will begin preparations immediately."

He finally spoke, his tone carrying the calm that follows a momentous decision.

"The counter-offensive against the Southern Army... spearheaded by the elite Saxon forces, coordinated with redeployed National Army field elites, and the Cossack cavalry."

Kerensky nodded, offering no further comment. The purpose of his visit had been achieved.

He turned toward the door, stopped halfway, and glanced back at Alekseyev.

"Do you need me to coordinate with the Saxons?"

"No."

Alekseyev shook his head. "I will handle the Eighth Army Headquarters... As for that young general commanding the Instruction Brigade, I'll probably need to inform him personally."

"I heard that Major General fought another brilliant battle in Rzhyshchiv today?"

"Brilliant is an understatement."

Alekseyev returned to his desk, opening the combat report that had just arrived from Rzhyshchiv.

"Attacked them mid-crossing. In one day of fighting, they annihilated nearly four thousand of Denikin's vanguard, along with multiple Armored Knights... The spoils are even greater than what we achieved here in Kyiv..."

Kerensky raised an eyebrow.

"So, what do you think the odds of success are if we have him lead this... er, Instruction Brigade, as the core offensive force against Denikin's flank?"

Alekseyev closed the report and placed it on the corner of his desk.

"Based on the combat power they've displayed, very high... But the prerequisite is that the Saxons agree to it themselves. It is their unit, after all."

Kerensky hmphed, pushed the door open, and walked out.

When the iron door clicked shut, the basement fell silent once more.

Alekseyev sat for a moment, then pulled a blank telegram form from his drawer and began drafting the request to the Saxon Eighth Army Headquarters.

His pen scratched across the paper. Halfway through, he stopped, crumpled the paper into a ball, tossed it aside, opened the door, and looked at the officers outside.

"The heads of the Operations and Logistics Departments, and the First-Level Staff Officers, come with me."

"Sir, where are we going?"

"The Saxon Eighth Army Headquarters. Call ahead and tell them we have an urgent matter to discuss!"

"Yes, sir."

Rzhyshchiv.

On the riverbank after sunset, the smell of gunpowder from the day's fighting still lingered in the air.

The forces of the White Army's Southern Army had pulled far back from the east bank, essentially breaking contact.

The Instruction Brigade's positions were under strict blackout conditions. The entire trench line was pitch black. Only a handful of first-aid stations and ammo depots requiring illumination dared light oil lamps, their glow mostly shuttered.

Morin squatted next to a destroyed "Linebreaker." Holding a flashlight—increasingly standard issue for all frontline units—he examined the internal structure of the steel giant in the dim beam.

Ludwig stood beside him, arms crossed, occasionally glancing down at whatever Morin was studying.

"Well? Figure anything out?"

"Shush, I'm observing."

"..."

Morin truly didn't have time to chat with Ludwig because the system's [Research] interface was rapidly refreshing with information for the first time in a while.

[Alchemical Artifact Detected: Old Rus Orthodox Paladin Order - "Linebreaker Mark III" Armored Knight]

[Orthodox Alchemical Armor Technology Unlocked: 10%]

[Analyzing: "Linebreaker Mark III" Main Armor Composition...]

[Result: Multi-layer Composite Structure]

[Layer 1: Alchemically Reinforced High-Carbon Steel (Thickness approx. 35mm)]

[Layer 2: Alchemical Ceramic Layer (Thickness approx. 20mm)]

[Layer 3: Unknown Alloy Layer (Thickness approx. 30mm)]

[Layer 4: Cushioning Liner Material, no actual ballistic protection]

[Defensive Capability: Equivalent Homogeneous Armor approx. 120-140mm. Multi-layer structure generates dispersive and attenuating effects on metal jets.]

Staring at the data string, Morin sucked in a breath of cold air.

No wonder it was so hard to kill. The Russians' alchemy had forged improvised composite armor?

Though they themselves likely didn't understand the concept of "composite armor," they simply layered defenses onto their Armored Knights, much like actual knightly plate mail.

However, this explained why some AP shells that penetrated the shields failed to breach the main armor. The multi-layer structure disrupted the shaped-charge jet; by the time it penetrated the shield, the remaining energy was minimal, leaving only a scorch mark on the main armor.

The shield ate most of the energy, and the main armor relied on its multi-layer structure to dissipate the rest.

Morin reached out and touched an exposed layer of dark-gray, unknown alchemical material inside one of the bullet holes. It was the innermost layer of the "Linebreaker's" main armor.

Outside of it were two layers of different armor plating, and the outermost alchemically reinforced shell, which gleamed with a dark green luster.

"Four layers."

Morin withdrew his hand, stood up, and brushed the dirt from his knees.

"The outermost is an alchemically reinforced hardened layer. Great against kinetic rounds, but quite brittle... The second layer is some strange ceramic, meant to absorb shock. The third layer is another hardened plate, and the innermost is a cushioning liner..."

"So, in essence, it's that 'composite armor' concept you mentioned before?" Ludwig chimed in.

"Pretty much."

Morin couldn't help but scratch his head. He hadn't expected to run into this.

"Except they achieved it by fusing it together with alchemy, which is different from my idea of physically layering it. But the results are the same... No wonder we had such a hard time."

As Morin spoke, the new information was automatically logged into the [Alchemy] branch on the system's [Research] interface.

Preliminary analysis data on "Alchemical Armor Crafting" technology, the attenuation coefficients of the multi-layer armor's various materials against shaped-charge jets...

These things couldn't be directly converted into usable results in the short term. After all, the mages back in Saxony likely knew little more about alchemy than Morin did. But it might prove useful in the future.

Especially since this alchemical armor definitely offered weight-saving advantages... Despite the "Linebreakers" appearing incredibly cumbersome, their defensive capabilities far exceeded what their tonnage suggested.

If they utilized a chassis with better load-bearing capacity rather than a bipedal humanoid form, the results might be even better.

"So what's the plan?" Ludwig asked. "Increase the AP shell caliber? Or redesign the shaped charge cone?"

"Both, but not right now." Morin switched off the flashlight and headed toward the rear of the positions. "The most pressing issue right now is..."

Halfway through his sentence, his portable magitech comms terminal buzzed.

Morin glanced down. Judging by the glowing indicator, it was a comms request from Klaus.

Upon answering, Klaus's voice came through.

"Sir, Brigade Comms received an urgent telegram. The Eighth Army Headquarters orders your immediate return to Army HQ to attend an emergency operational conference."