Chapter 564: Saxony’s "Frankenstein Army," Incorporating Everyone’s Strengths

"What is it?"

Ludwig's voice came from the side. He had clearly noticed the change in Morin's expression after taking the call.

Morin closed the comms device and replied with a hint of surprise, "An urgent recall from Eighth Army Headquarters. They told me to bring my staff and attend an operational conference."

"This late?"

Ludwig looked up at the completely dark sky, then lowered his arms from his chest.

"Did something happen in Kyiv?"

"No, that's not it."

Morin shook his head. He had just specifically checked the system map, and there were no anomalies in the Kyiv sector.

"Based on the cables received this afternoon, both sides have ceased operations around Kyiv. The urban areas are still under National Army control... It's highly unlikely due to a sudden emergency there."

Ludwig: "Then it must be to discuss the next move."

"Mhm~"

Morin nodded; that was his general assessment as well.

"Alright, I'll leave you to watch things here."

Morin jutted his chin toward the wreckage of the "Linebreaker" lying on the riverbank.

"I'll have someone salvage the key components from the wreckage and send them back later. The Russians' alchemical armor really is something else..."

"Don't worry, go. Who would dare touch something Friedrich has his eye on?" Ludwig waved him off. "Be careful on the road. It's not easy traveling at night."

Morin took one last look at the destroyed "Linebreaker." It was a pity the system's analysis wouldn't finish anytime soon, and he couldn't afford to wait around here.

Returning to the temporary Brigade HQ, Morin found Rundstedt.

"The unit is in your hands for now. Do not lower the nighttime alert level. Our daytime tactics clearly exhausted the enemy, but we can't rule out Denikin bringing up reinforcements overnight."

"Yes, General!"

Rundstedt nodded in acknowledgment. The resolute expression on his face made Morin feel entirely at ease.

The talent and capabilities this "new card" had demonstrated recently allowed Morin to entrust the troops to him with the same confidence he placed in Kleist.

Furthermore, Rundstedt possessed unique insights regarding personnel assignments. He had recently made several personnel shifts that yielded excellent results.

Half an hour later, two staff cars and a military truck pulled out of the Instruction Brigade's rear staging area, heading north along the rutted dirt road.

Morin and Manstein sat in the back of the lead car. Major Klose, the military inquisitor, and another lieutenant rode in the second.

The truck bringing up the rear belonged to a security detachment dispatched in accordance with Army regulations. Of course... its primary purpose was to provide protection for Major Klose and his team.

Major Klose had been shadowing the Instruction Brigade these past few days. Even during the daytime battles today, he hadn't hidden in the rear, but brought his men to the front lines to observe.

After a few days with them, this major with his special status had figured things out. He knew when to shut his mouth and ordered his subordinates not to harass the Instruction Brigade excessively.

Although other inquisitors, led by Lieutenant Fischer, were indignant about this, they managed to maintain a relatively "harmonious" relationship with the Instruction Brigade's officers.

As the vehicles drove out of the staging area behind the Rzhyshchiv lines, their headlights were dimmed following blackout protocols. The dim, yellowish light barely illuminated three to five meters of the muddy road ahead.

Looking at the bumpy road conditions, Morin instructed the driver, "Drive slowly. Speeding down this kind of road at night is asking for an accident."

After all, instances of military generals dying in car crashes instead of in combat weren't unheard of.

Even if Morin wasn't afraid, his companion Manstein was still "mortal flesh and blood."

The driver agreed. He had no intention of risking his life for speed either. By his estimation, it would take at least three hours to reach Army Headquarters.

"Sigh... If only we had large transport aircraft."

Morin leaned back in his seat, unable to suppress a mutter.

"We could fly this distance and be back in ten minutes."

Manstein, holding a briefcase beside him, looked up upon hearing this and asked, "Aircraft? Like those one- or two-seaters the aviation squadron uses?"

"Not those."

An image of 'Auntie Junkers' (the Ju 52) flashed through Morin's mind as he explained, "I mean much larger ones. Similar... passenger capacity to small airships, but vastly faster. Designed specifically for transporting personnel or delivering things that can't be sent via telegraph."

Manstein thought about it and found the idea quite logical.

"Rapid delivery of written orders, operational maps, photographic intelligence... Indeed, some items have security classifications too high for radio transmission, but airships are too slow and massive..."

"Right? Where there's demand, there will surely be a market."

The two chatted idly for a while. The topic drifted from transport aircraft to logistical supply lines, then circled back to an after-action review of the day's battles.

Halfway through his sentence, Manstein's voice gradually trailed off... The exhausted Chief of Staff tilted his head, resting it against the window, his breathing steady.

Morin didn't wake him. Not everyone possessed his boundless energy.

As the cabin fell silent, only the crunch of tires on mud and the low vibration of the engine remained.

With no one to talk to, Morin's mind became increasingly active.

The information he had just gleaned from the "Linebreaker" wreckage tumbled through his head, particularly the text on the system interface: [Orthodox Alchemical Armor Technology Unlocked: 10%].

The system's analysis was fascinating to Morin. The alchemical armor technology of the Orthodox Paladin Orders operated on a completely different fundamental logic than the Saxon magic system.

Yet the energy source for both... pointed to the exact same thing.

Radiant Crystal ore (Magic Crystals).

It was true for the spells used by mages, and true for the alchemy used by alchemists.

Taking it a step further... what about the "Blood Magic"-esque attacks used by the "vampirized" Ferdinand I back in Bucharest?

How did the technology capable of altering the human body relate to magic and alchemy?

And what about the "Divine Arts" used by the clerics and Paladins of the Papal State?

Morin hadn't forgotten the "buffing" effects those Paladins received from their Divine Arts.

Based on the intelligence gathered thus far, the foundation of all these vastly different technological paths was inextricably linked to one common element: the Magic Crystal ore that fell from the sky.

No matter how flashy the manifestation of these different paths was, they were essentially just different methods of utilizing the "energy" contained within Magic Crystals.

It was the very existence of this substance that caused the history of this world to diverge from his original Earth.

But the question was, why?

Why did humanity learn magic and alchemy after coming into contact with Magic Crystals? Even the appearance of "Divine Arts" in the Vatican happened around the same time.

The process itself was bizarre. How could a rock falling from the sky "teach" humanity these things?

Why would an "extraterrestrial object" possess the characteristic of carrying information?

Several classic sci-fi tropes flashed through Morin's mind. In those settings, alien minerals landing on Earth almost always arrived with a specific purpose... So, was the same true for Magic Crystals?

Neither Morin nor the system could answer this question, so Morin turned his gaze to the moon outside the window.

Because there was virtually no light pollution in this era, combined with the desolate wilderness and his potion-enhanced vision, the light and dark regions on the moon's surface were startlingly clear.

As the planet's satellite, the moon often acted as a shield, inadvertently intercepting numerous incoming objects from outer space.

In his old world, the densely packed craters on the moon's surface were the best proof of this.

Could it be possible... that a significant amount of Magic Crystal ore also landed on the moon?

If so, could the connection between the Earth and the Moon have been altered by the presence of massive quantities of Magic Crystals on the lunar surface?

For example... some sort of "amplification" effect based on tidal forces?

Is that why supernatural creatures like werewolves and vampires preferred to operate at night?

Is that why rest at night was particularly crucial for mages, because the moon's influence on mana was stronger then?

His thoughts were drifting further and further afield. Morin rubbed his temples, forcing himself to refocus.

Back to the most practical issues.

If alchemy and magic were essentially just different "paths" for processing the energy within Magic Crystals, was it possible for the Saxon Empire to adopt elements of alchemy for its own use?

Just like how they reverse-engineered the Gallic "enchanted breastplates," which were now being issued en masse to combat engineer units.

And the Britannian "Magic Crystal Cannon" Morin captured during the Aragon civil war had, under Patricia's direction, borne fruit as the Saxons' own "Magic Crystal Mortar."

Judging from today's combat, Russian—or rather, Orthodox—alchemy definitely had something going for it when it came to armor development.

An equivalent of 120 to 140 millimeters of frontal protection on a humanoid weapon... Morin never dreamed he'd encounter an enemy like that during a WWI-era conflict.

And that "War Alchemy" used to cover advancing troops... there was considerable potential in developing that in other directions too...

As the saying goes, "you can never have too many skills." If the Saxon Army could become a "Frankenstein Army," incorporating the strengths of a hundred schools of thought, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing...

The vehicles continued bouncing forward through the night. Morin ran these fragmented thoughts through his head a few more times. Ultimately, lacking sufficient information to theorize further, he simply closed his eyes to rest.

When he opened them again, the driver in the front seat was calling back to him.

"General, we've arrived."

The Eighth Army Headquarters camp looked much the same as it had a few days ago. However, as Morin's car passed through the final checkpoint, he noticed the camp was anything but quiet.

There were far more officers bustling between the tents and prefabricated buildings than during the day. Many were jogging with documents tucked under their arms. This atmosphere was unusual under normal circumstances.

Manstein had been jolted awake and was currently straightening his crooked collar tabs. "General, judging by the commotion... this is definitely not a routine meeting."

"Yeah, but we're here now. Let's see what's going on~"

Morin nodded. He stepped out of the car with Manstein and followed a receiving officer toward the largest tent.

Entering the meeting room, Morin found it already quite full.

The principal officers of the Eighth Army Headquarters sat along the sides of the long table. To his surprise, Alekseyev sat to the left of the head seat, with four or five Western Rus National Army officers standing behind him.

When Morin walked into the tent, everyone... both Saxons and National Army personnel... stopped talking and turned to look at the door.

Clearly, everyone had been waiting for him before starting the meeting.

This immediately gave Morin a bad feeling. And that premonition soon became reality...

"Erich, I fucking knew there was nothing good about calling us here in the middle of the night!"

Some time later, the meeting concluded, and the attendees gradually filtered out of the tent.

Morin and Manstein emerged with complex expressions. Morin finally couldn't hold it in, keeping his voice low as he complained to his Chief of Staff.

The reason was simple: the Eighth Army and the National Army wanted to use the Instruction Brigade as the core of an offensive, launching a massive counterattack against the White Army's Southern Army as soon as possible. The goal was to force the Center Army into a dilemma.

Morin didn't deny that the concept was sound.

The problem was that it was nearly the end of September. It had been raining more frequently these past few days. As time passed, road conditions would rapidly deteriorate, severely limiting armored forces.

However, when he voiced this concern during the meeting, most people felt he was overly worried.

Some National Army officers, in particular, thought Morin was exaggerating the threat of the "Rasputitsa" (mud season). If they, the locals, weren't afraid of it, why was an outsider Saxon being so timid?

Morin was speechless. As a newcomer, wasn't it perfectly normal to be cautious?

He could only conclude that Russians, no matter which world they were from, were universally reckless and arrogant.

Morin had raised several specific objections: How do we secure logistical supply lines once they are extended? Where will the engineers and bridging equipment for a large-scale river crossing come from? If the assault stalls and devolves into a war of attrition, does the Instruction Brigade have enough ammunition to hold out until supply lines stabilize?

Every question was highly practical, yet every single one was brushed aside by the attendees in various ways—either with promises to reallocate supplies or chest-thumping guarantees of full cooperation.

In the end, the operational plan was approved.

The Eighth Army and the National Army decided to secretly redeploy approximately 100,000 troops to assemble in the Rzhyshchiv sector. Then, with the Instruction Brigade acting as the spearhead, they would launch an offensive against the White Army's Southern Army.

The night wind blew against his face, cold and carrying the scent of moisture.

Morin looked up at the sky. The moon was mostly obscured by thin clouds, completely different from the bright, clear moon he had seen on the way here...

Manstein walked out behind him. The two strolled along the gravel path toward their parked cars.

"General," Manstein lowered his voice. "Do you think this plan..."

"The plan is fine." Morin spoke quickly. "The logic is sound. Striking Denikin's flank to threaten Kolchak's rear is an indirect approach strategy that leverages their alliance."

Manstein: "I feel like a 'but' is coming..."

"But I'm afraid our allies will drag us down."

Morin didn't mince words.

"Out of a 100,000-man force, subtracting the 36,000 men from the two infantry divisions the Eighth Army is deploying, the remaining 60,000-plus are National Army troops and Cossack cavalry... I have absolutely no faith in their training and coordination capabilities."

"True. But if they're anything like the allied troops back in Rzhyshchiv, at least their combat resolve should be adequate?"

Manstein replied, but his expression clearly showed similar reservations.

"Sigh, I'm just afraid they won't match the quality of the troops under General Yegorov's command. After all, the core of that force consists of International Brigade veterans. Forget it..."

Morin exhaled, trying to calm himself and look on the bright side.

"The only good news is we have five or six days for the redeployment, giving us ample time to prepare... And if my calculations are correct, the Grand Master and the rest of the Teutonic Order should be arriving soon."

Morin stopped walking and thought for a moment before continuing, "Erich, as soon as we get back, organize the staff officers immediately. Compile all available topographical data on the area east of Rzhyshchiv, past the river crossing. Before we deploy, we need to map out every possible route of advance and line of retreat. I will join you in this work."

"Yes, General."

"Since we can't stop this, we just have to figure out a way to fight it beautifully."

Meanwhile, in another tent within the Eighth Army Headquarters.

When Major Klose pushed aside the flap and entered, only a single oil lamp burned inside. The faint light cast long, dancing shadows on the canvas walls.

A man sat behind the desk.

Colonel Meissen, the Head of Military Inquisition for the Eighth Army, and Klose's direct superior on the Eastern Front.

He was in his early forties, with a gaunt face and a uniform devoid of superfluous decorations... though that was mainly because military inquisitors rarely had the opportunity to earn medals.

"Take a seat, Major Klose."

"Colonel." Major Klose stood at attention, saluted, and sat down opposite him.

Lieutenant Fischer followed him in, quietly lowering the tent flap, and stood slightly behind and to the side of Major Klose.

Colonel Meissen tapped his fingers lightly on the desk at a very slow, deliberate rhythm.

"Tell me about your work alongside the Instruction Brigade over the past few days."

Major Klose pulled his notebook from his pocket and placed it on the desk. He didn't open it; instead, he spoke directly. "Colonel, the Instruction Brigade participated in defensive operations in the Rzhyshchiv sector. They repelled massive offensives by the White Army's Southern Army yesterday and today..."

"Today's results were particularly spectacular. Major General Morin decisively commanded an attack on the enemy mid-crossing, achieving tremendous success..."

Colonel Meissen showed no reaction, continuing to tap the desk.

"I didn't ask about their combat results."

"Yes, sir." Major Klose paused. "Major General Morin's command... is highly decisive. In two days of combat, there hasn't been a single instance of cowardice or hesitation."

"And his interactions with allied forces?"

"Within normal parameters! There is tactical coordination between the Instruction Brigade and the National Army's Rzhyshchiv garrison. The frequency of communication between Colonel Yegorov and Major General Morin is standard, and the content is entirely combat-related."

"Any overstepping of bounds? Orders exceeding his authority? Private fraternization with National Army officers?"

Major Klose shook his head slightly.

"Nothing detected."

Colonel Meissen's fingers stopped tapping. The tent fell completely silent.

Standing in the corner, Lieutenant Fischer tilted his head slightly toward Major Klose. His lips moved, but ultimately, he said nothing. However, a look of distinct shock washed over his face.

Because what Major Klose was saying right now blatantly contradicted what they had discussed privately earlier.