Chapter 575: Company Champion?

Upon receiving Denikin's urgent telegram, the 5th Infantry Division of the White Army's Southern Army essentially began running the moment they turned around.

The troops, who had already marched toward the Rzhyshchiv front for most of the day, now had to reverse their order and hurry back along the route they had just traveled.

This forced march was no easy feat for the already exhausted soldiers. Their legs had barely stopped moving since they set out that morning.

But no one dared complain, because fierce-looking White Army officers and barrier troops were constantly patrolling the front and rear of the marching column on horseback.

If previously these White Army officers were merely throwing their weight around, this time they genuinely, desperately wanted their troops to run faster.

After all, the few phrases that spilled from the messenger's mouth—"Saxon armored forces," "left flank breached," "three regiments lost contact"—were enough to make anyone shut their mouths and quicken their pace.

Lieutenant General Dmitry, commander of the 5th Infantry Division, rode his horse, constantly urging the troops along the route to speed up.

He was no longer a young man. In his early fifties, with old wounds from years of campaigning, his posture in the saddle was somewhat stiff.

But his mind worked rapidly...

When the vanguard finally reached the designated defensive zone, Dmitry immediately ordered the entire division to deploy in place and construct a temporary defensive line.

However, just as the temporary division headquarters tent was pitched near a grove of trees, his Chief of Staff walked over briskly.

"Division Commander, a report just sent back from the vanguard... Enemy activity traces observed within a two to three-kilometer radius ahead of the positions."

Dmitry's hand froze.

"What scale?"

"Not large, highly likely a reconnaissance element. They haven't opened fire or approached... but someone reported seeing motorized vehicles, though the vanguard couldn't identify them."

Dmitry said nothing. He stood in silence for a few seconds, vividly picturing what his infantry division was doing right now...

Soldiers were digging foxholes, others were hauling machine guns and ammo crates. The gunners of the division artillery regiment were whipping their draft horses, dragging field guns onto uneven positions...

Everything was far too rushed.

Forget proper communication trenches and bunkers; many positions hadn't even finished digging basic foxholes.

His troops had been here for twenty minutes tops, and recon units were already appearing ahead... This speed made Dmitry realize this was not an enemy he could defeat.

The Saxon force opposite them had devoured three infantry regiments in half a day.

Dmitry knew perfectly well that while his division was stronger than those three regiments in sheer numbers, it wasn't that much stronger.

The regiment they had left behind on the flank was now out of contact, likely meaning they were doomed.

Currently, the division had less than seven thousand combat-ready men. Although the Army Command was dispatching a direct reserve unit, when they would actually link up was still a question mark.

To expect him to hold off an armored force capable of routing entire infantry regiments in a short timeframe with such a small force...

He inhaled sharply and turned to his Chief of Staff.

"Accelerate the construction of the forward positions. Dig whatever fortifications can be dug. Prioritize placing heavy machine gun nests in locations that can lock down roads and flat terrain."

"Division Commander, the artillery..."

"There's no time for the artillery to set up proper preparatory fire."

Dmitry cut him off, continuing, "Tell the artillery regimental commander to set up whatever guns he can right now. Forget about calculating firing tables... Just fire whenever possible. The important thing is to make some noise when the enemy attacks."

The Chief of Staff noted the orders and hurried away.

Dmitry stood alone for a moment. After confirming no one else was paying attention, he quietly walked toward the entrance of his tent.

His adjutant happened to be running back from a distance and immediately jogged over upon seeing his commander.

Dmitry lowered his voice, speaking rapidly. "Go to the logistics convoy right now. Inspect the status of the vehicles directly under division headquarters (also imported from Saxony before the war)... Top off the radiant crystal fuel, check the horses' shoes one more time, and that spare light automobile... check the tires and everything carefully."

The adjutant was stunned by these orders.

"Division Commander... what are you preparing for?"

Dmitry glared at him viciously, entirely shedding his usual closeness with his confidant.

"Just do as you're told! Ask one more question and don't blame me when I leave you behind!"

Startled, the adjutant swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue, turned, and ran off.

Dmitry watched his back disappear among the tents before turning back into his own.

Inside, several division staff officers were gathered around a freshly unrolled map, discussing something. The Chief of Staff had also returned and was quietly arguing with another officer over artillery site selection.

Upon entering, Dmitry first exchanged a meaningful glance with his Chief of Staff.

The latter quickly understood his intent and gave a slight nod, indicating comprehension.

Dmitry then adopted a completely different persona, addressing the crowd in the command tent: "Gentlemen!"

All conversation ceased.

"Please remember from this moment on: we are the final barrier for the Southern Army's left flank! Tell all units that starting now, every soldier must be nailed to their position... they could not retreat without orders from division headquarters."

"Anyone, any unit retreating without authorization will be dealt with under battlefield law."

The tent was silent for two seconds.

An officer from the division operations section hesitantly raised a hand.

"Division Commander, if the positions are breached... do we have a pre-planned retreat route?"

"There is no retreat route." Dmitry's tone was ironclad. "Only hold the line."

The officers exchanged glances, but no one voiced further doubts.

After all, the orders from Army Headquarters had been relayed down the chain of command... The left flank had to hold to the death to buy time for the Reserve Army.

After everyone took their orders and dispersed, the Chief of Staff lingered behind.

"Four hours."

Once everyone was far enough away, Dmitry spoke again, his voice much softer.

"Commander Denikin said the vanguard of the First Reserve Army would arrive within three hours... two at the fastest... but there will definitely be delays on the road. So, conservatively, we need to hold out for at least four hours."

The Chief of Staff remained silent for a while.

"Division Commander... do you think we can hold?"

Dmitry didn't answer. He simply pulled a silver flask from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and took a large swig of vodka.

The spicy liquid burned down his throat. He bared his teeth, then handed the flask to the Chief of Staff.

"Take a sip."

The Chief of Staff took it, drank, swallowed, and coughed lightly twice.

"Whether we can hold or not..." Dmitry took the flask back. "...We must make all necessary preparations."

The two exchanged a tacit look, then went about their respective tasks.

One was formal defensive preparation... digging fortifications, mounting machine guns, emplacing artillery.

The other was a less glorious "backup plan"...

...Topping off fuel, checking tires, confirming the horses' condition.

At the same time, roughly one kilometer behind the Instruction Brigade's vanguard.

A radiant crystal truck was parked beside a patch of low shrubs. The canvas flap at the back was thrown open. Three figures clad in heavy "Mj?lnir" armor stood neatly in the clearing beside the truck, watching an approaching half-track command vehicle.

As Morin hopped down from the command vehicle, his left hand gripped a long, cloth-wrapped object, and his right held an MP14 submachine gun equipped with Helga's modified drum magazine.

His modified chest rig bulged front and back, stuffed with four spare drum magazines.

Manstein and Rundstedt tried to follow him out, but Morin stopped them, ordering them back to a safer position. Manstein's lips moved twice before he finally managed a single sentence.

"General, we will continue coordinating the units from the command vehicle."

Morin nodded.

"Have the battalions continue executing their mission packages... If unexpected situations arise, you three discuss and handle it... You don't need my approval for everything."

"Yes, sir."

"Also." Morin stopped after taking a step and turned back. "Tell the battalions, once the attack commences, even if I and the first squad appear near them, they are to ignore where we go. They only need to focus on completing their own missions."

"If I need anything, I will contact them directly!"

With that, he didn't linger, striding toward the truck carrying the "Thunder Warriors."

Klaus currently had his heavy helmet tucked under his arm. Above his breastplate sat a chiseled face covered in old scars.

"General."

"Klaus, it's finally that familiar feeling again~"

Morin slung the MP14 onto his back, freeing a hand to slap Klaus's shoulder armor, smiling happily at the three men.

Seeing Morin approach, the other two "Thunder Warriors" produced a metallic clatter, punching their breastplates in a salute.

"Alright, enough of that. Mount up, mount up!"

Morin hopped into the back of the truck first, found an empty spot, and sat down, leaning the "Dark Sword" against his leg.

He glanced at the two "Thunder Warriors" besides Klaus. These were some of the oldest veterans in the Instruction Brigade, true "Kings of Soldiers" who had fought their way up from the very first infantry company.

"Once we enter combat, it's just like before," Morin's tone was casual. "I lead the way, you follow."

Klaus sat down beside him, putting his helmet back on, his voice muffled.

"General, you really shouldn't take point. Let me—"

"Enough, enough." Morin waved him off. "I finally get to hit the front lines, let me charge just this once!"

"Klaus, you've been spending too much time with Erich and the others, getting all mother-hen on me. When have I ever gotten hurt leading a charge?"

Klaus shut his mouth, but the expression beneath his helmet was likely unconvinced.

Several other "Thunder Warriors" in the truck chuckled, lightening the mood significantly.

The truck started up with a jolt, heading toward the jump-off area ahead.

After bouncing along the dirt road for about five minutes, the truck gradually slowed, finally stopping in a depression concealed by low shrubs.

When Morin hopped out of the back, he could see massive numbers of Instruction Brigade half-tracks assembling behind the tree line a few hundred meters ahead.

The vehicles of the Armored Instruction Regiment's 1st Battalion were lined up in two columns. Crews were conducting final checks, while others loaded ammunition dragged up by supply trucks into the rear compartments.

This was the jump-off area.

Further ahead, about two kilometers away, the system map showed the forward positions of the White Army's 5th Infantry Division deploying along a shallow ridge.

They had dug some foxholes and rudimentary machine gun emplacements, but so far, the overall completion of their fortifications was very low.

Morin understood their predicament... Having rushed all the way back, the men were still gasping for breath when ordered to dig in. Aside from a few elite Saxon Imperial Army units, anyone would be in this half-assed state.

But understanding was one thing; he wouldn't show mercy in combat.

The other six "Thunder Warriors" of Klaus's first squad converged on Morin's group, their metal soles thudding heavily against the soft mud.

Due to the excessive weight of the "Mj?lnir" armor, the "Thunder Warriors" currently traveled by radiant crystal trucks over land until they neared the jump-off area, then proceeded on foot.

Several regular Instruction Brigade soldiers passed by, instinctively sneaking extra glances at the row of heavily armored warriors gathered together.

Most of these soldiers had seen "Thunder Warriors" in combat, but seeing them assembled like this always delivered a powerful visual impact.

Morin wasn't in a rush to push forward. He first used his portable magitech comms terminal to verify the readiness of each battalion-level unit.

Feedback from the nine "Thunder Warriors" of the second squad dispersed among the battalions trickled in: all units designated for the assault were in position.

From the 115mm magitech mortar positions, aside from the two men still with the radio recon detachment, the remaining seven "Thunder Warriors" of the third squad also reported ready. Shells were loaded, and everyone awaited the signal to attack...

However, Morin's mind was currently occupied by something else.

Since arriving at Rzhyshchiv, the effect of dispersing the "Thunder Warriors" into battalion-level tactical units was truly exceeding his expectations.

In the numerous battles before arriving on the Eastern Front, the "Thunder Warriors" had generally been concentrated as squads to execute assault missions.

The instantaneous burst power of that tactic was undeniably terrifying. However, in offensive operations where the front line was wider and pressure needed to be applied across multiple axes simultaneously, concentrating them caused the advance in other sectors to lag behind.

But now, with one or two "Thunder Warriors" inserted into every battalion-level tactical unit, the entire attack rhythm of the Instruction Brigade had completely transformed.

Strongholds that previously required paying a price to crack were now effortlessly breached by "Thunder Warriors" charging in unscathed, followed by regular infantry expanding the breach.

Because the units these battalions and companies faced were generally of equal scale, and such enemies currently posed no threat to "Thunder Warriors."

Furthermore, when Morin issued orders via the magitech comms device, the receiving "Thunder Warrior" could relay the instruction to the corresponding unit commander's ear within dozens of seconds, ensuring immediate execution.

This was true "extension." Not a chain of command on paper, but tangible, instantaneous battlefield control... transforming every battalion-level tactical unit into an "extension" of Morin's own arms.

Thinking of this, Morin couldn't help but associate it with the next-generation modified serum research underway at the Imperial Magitech Research Institute.

Based on the news he received before departing, their progress was faster than he anticipated.

Because they were using the serum of the 27 "Thunder Warriors" as a blueprint for iterative development, rather than directly using the highly concentrated raw fluid extracted from his own body, the production volume of the modified serum had increased drastically.

Simultaneously, the physical requirements for recipients had been lowered, correspondingly decreasing experimental risks.

Simply put, the success rate of the new generation serum had reached a level where "mass production" was viable.

Whether it was Director Planck's idea or a push from the Royal Family behind the scenes, the Imperial Magitech Research Institute had surprisingly handed the authority to define the criteria for "recipient selection" to Morin.

In other words, Morin could decide the selection pool for the majority of the new generation "Super Soldiers."

However, prior to this, he hadn't figured out how to handle this issue.

Conventional logic dictated selecting those with the absolute best physical attributes and calling it a day... But Morin felt something was missing, though he couldn't put his finger on it.

Until today. Watching the effectiveness of the "Thunder Warriors" attached to the various battalions on the battlefield, an idea suddenly popped into Morin's head.

Every regiment, battalion, and even company...

Yes, the "Kings of Soldiers" selected by the lowest-level companies should be the ones receiving the modification.

These men had already passed the crucible of the battlefield. They possessed combat experience, willpower, and most importantly... they came from the grassroots level and shared emotional bonds with their comrades.

Once modified, they could return to their own companies with greater power and superior equipment, becoming living "walls of honor."

This would not only directly enhance the combat power of their respective units but also massively boost the sense of honor among grassroots troops.

When that time came, every unit in the Imperial Army would take pride in possessing their own "Company Champions" and boasting about their numbers. Those without would fight desperately to prove themselves worthy...

The sense of honor and combat effectiveness of the entire army would skyrocket simultaneously.

This sudden "clever idea" made the corners of Morin's mouth curl up involuntarily. If there hadn't been others around, he might have even hummed a tune.

However, Klaus, constantly observing Morin, noticed his expression change. His muffled voice squeezed out from his helmet.

"General... what happy thought just crossed your mind?"

Morin glanced sideways at him, then smiled and nodded.

"Mhm, just had a sudden inspiration that solved a problem that's been bugging me for a while. I'll explain the details when we get back."

Klaus didn't press further, simply following Morin as they continued forward.

After their boots crossed a stretch of soft grass, the terrain opened up. The ridge housing the White Army positions became faintly visible in the distance.

Just then, a muffled roar echoed from behind them.

This time, prioritizing rapid crossing and flanking speed, Morin hadn't brought the Artillery Instruction Regiment. Currently, the Instruction Brigade's long-range fire support consisted primarily of the brigade's 77mm field guns, some RAK15 anti-armor guns, and the light mortars attached to the companies.

However, the artillery fire that just rang out originated from none of these three, but from the newly deployed 115mm magitech mortars.

At this moment, on a commanding height on the right flank of the Instruction Brigade's axis of advance, the scene on the ground was quite chaotic.

This high ground offered a sweeping view of the general areas occupied by both forces, which was exactly why the units near the 5th Infantry Division had specifically dispatched soldiers to seize it.

However, right now, dozens of White Army corpses lay haphazardly across the slope. Their clustered positions indicated they had been ambushed the moment they arrived, before they could even disperse.

Several rifles lay scattered in the grass; a few, along with their attached bayonets, were snapped clean in two.

Not far from these corpses, four "Thunder Warriors" in "Mj?lnir" armor stood at the very peak of the high ground, facing the temporary positions of the White Army's 5th Infantry Division, visible less than a kilometer away.

They stood side-by-side, their right hands raised simultaneously, a faint blue spiritual light emanating from their palms.

A dozen meters behind them, over twenty White Army prisoners squatted in a row, hands bound, guarded by a dozen Instruction Brigade soldiers with rifles raised.

An Instruction Brigade second lieutenant walked to the front of the prisoner line and shouted in less-than-standard Russian:

"Don't look around. Keep your heads down."

Immediately after, a strange shrieking sound tore through the air.

It wasn't the sharp whistle of a conventional artillery shell, but a low-frequency, sustained hum pressing down from directly above.

The four "Thunder Warriors" made microscopic adjustments to the angle of their palms almost simultaneously.

The next instant, eight 115mm magitech mortar shells, having crested the apex of their trajectory, plummeted from the sky, detonating suddenly about thirty meters above the White Army positions.

BANG—BANGBANGBANG—

A succession of flashes lit up the forward positions, followed immediately by a dense, staccato crackle. Countless pieces of shrapnel rained down from the sky, blanketing a long, rectangular swath of ground.

In that area, White Army soldiers were digging shallow foxholes...

Countless pieces of shrapnel poured onto this section of the White Army positions. Precise guidance coupled with the massive area coverage of airburst shrapnel meant these hastily dug foxholes and rudimentary trenches offered absolutely no cover.

Furthermore, the densely packed White Army soldiers on the positions drastically multiplied the lethal efficiency of the airburst shrapnel.

Looking down from the commanding height, one could clearly see that after the explosions, the section of the trench that was previously bustling with silhouettes suddenly fell dead silent.

Only a few seconds later did sporadic figures begin to move.

After another volley, subjecting the position to a second blanket of fire, one of the "Thunder Warriors" on the high ground lowered his right hand and used his magitech comms terminal to contact the mortar battery in the rear.

"Guidance complete. Effects on the first target zone are excellent. Shifting to the next target."

"Copy," replied the "Thunder Warrior" coordinating at the rear battery. "Readjusting mounts. Expected third volley in forty seconds."

Right as comms were confirmed, the four "Thunder Warriors" had already adjusted their stance, facing another assembly point deeper within the White Army positions.

A White Army battalion was rushing to reinforce the front line... They were even marching in formation. Although startled by the bombardment of the forward positions, they maintained their advance.

"Second target confirmed. Awaiting fire..."

The four raised their right hands again, the blue mana light glowing in their palms.

Forty seconds later, the third volley of eight magitech mortar shells streaked across the sky, guided by the "Thunder Warriors" with pinpoint accuracy toward the marching White Army infantry battalion.

Airbursts again, but the effect this time was even more horrifying than the first.

A marching column was the absolute best target... Densely packed personnel, tight formation. When shrapnel rained down from thirty meters above, the entire column was reaped as if by an invisible scythe.

After several incredibly precise salvos from the 115mm magitech mortars, at least two companies on the 5th Infantry Division's forward positions, along with a reinforcing battalion-sized unit, were essentially rendered combat-ineffective.

The eight magitech mortars, guided by the "Thunder Warriors," began shifting to their next targets once again.

Meanwhile, in the center of the Instruction Brigade's axis of advance, half-tracks had breached the tree line and were pressing directly against the White Army's frontal positions.

Within the central mission sector, twelve half-tracks deployed in a wedge formation. Vehicular machine guns and the 50mm anti-armor guns of the fire support vehicles fired simultaneously, raking the still-smoking positions ahead.

As the infantry dismounted from the armored vehicles and advanced, soldiers of the Motorized Infantry Instruction Regiment—who had moved near the front via trucks and then entered the battlefield on foot—leaped from their standby areas further back. They advanced in squads, employing alternating covering fire.

Their movements were incredibly fluid, as if etched into their bones. Some fired suppressive bursts, others bounded forward. When the leading group hit the dirt, the trailing group instantly rose to continue the advance.

The reaction from the White Army positions was exceedingly sluggish. Occasional, scattered gunfire rang out, but the volume was utterly insufficient to constitute an effective barrage.

After weathering two rounds of 115mm magitech mortar airbursts, the surviving frontline White Army soldiers were mostly in a state of dazed shock.

Many cowered in their foxholes, too afraid to move, completely unaware of what had just happened.

By the time they came to their senses, the Saxon half-tracks had advanced to less than two hundred meters away.

"Return fire! Fire back!" a White Army company commander popped halfway out of his foxhole, waving his pistol and roaring at the surrounding soldiers.

Some surviving soldiers finally began shooting at the armored vehicles, but the bullets merely sparked against the half-tracks' frontal armor. They were completely incapable of penetrating the frontal plating.

Someone repositioned a still-functional heavy machine gun in the trench and began firing at the infantry trailing the armored vehicles.

Bullets kicked up geysers of dust on the ground, forcing several advancing Instruction Brigade soldiers to dive for cover.

But almost simultaneously, the turret of the nearest half-track "Fire Support Vehicle" swung toward the heavy machine gun position, followed by the sharp crack of its RAK15 50mm anti-armor gun.

After a few shots, the heavy machine gun nest, along with the ammo crates behind it, was blown sky-high.

White Army frontline platoon and company commanders screamed desperately amidst the chaos. Some blew whistles, but most waved their arms, ordering their men back down to the bottom of their foxholes.

"Fix bayonets! Prepare for melee combat!"

Close-quarters combat!

This was the only countermeasure the White Army officers could think of at this moment... No matter how fierce your firepower is, you can't sweep the trench with machine guns when your own men are inside, right?

Close the distance to under a meter, trade lives for lives!

This concept wasn't even considered extreme within the traditions of the Russian Army.

Or rather, this was the "glorious tradition" of the old Imperial Army. Even now, all officers originating from the old Imperial Army considered the "bayonet charge" the ultimate means to end a battle.

"Shoot less, aim true! Thrust your bayonets hard! A bullet is a fool, a bayonet is a hero!"

The surrounding White Army soldiers clumsily began fixing bayonets to their rifle barrels, but it wasn't the regular infantry of the Instruction Brigade they were waiting for.

Just as everyone awaited the approaching Saxon soldiers, a heavy thudding approached the front of the trench. Then, the edge of a trench section was crushed by something.

Mud and gravel cascaded down, and a humanoid figure encased entirely in thick steel dropped from the collapsed trench edge.

It was a "Thunder Warrior" assigned to this assault force.

The "Mj?lnir" armor reflected a dull metallic sheen under the sun. The sealed helmet hid all expression. He carried an MG14 light machine gun in his left hand, and a spare shotgun was slung across his back.

The White Army soldiers in the trench, including their officers, were stunned.

When a heavily armored Thunder Warrior crashed into their temporary trench at terrifying speed, they felt like they were dreaming.

But the next moment, as the "Thunder Warrior" began sweeping the trench with the MG14 light machine gun, reality hit them like a knife.

The muzzle flash was blindingly bright in the narrow trench, and 7.92mm bullets poured down the length of the ditch.

In this linear space devoid of cover, the lethal efficiency of a light machine gun was maximized.

The screams of White Army soldiers instantly drowned out the gunfire. Some turned and ran. Soldiers positioned behind the "Thunder Warrior" instinctively raised their rifles and fired at the iron lump.

Several rounds struck his back and shoulders. A faint blue magical aura flared around the "Thunder Warrior," and the bullets ricocheted the moment they touched it, failing to even leave a scratch on the armor itself.

...Such attacks often prompted the Thunder Warrior to redirect his next sweep toward the source of the fire.

The White Army soldiers who shot at him were mowed down in the bottom of the trench by the MG14 the very next second.

Outside the trench, Instruction Brigade infantry poured in through the breach ripped open by the "Thunder Warrior."

Similar scenes played out simultaneously at multiple locations along the 5th Infantry Division's hastily constructed defensive line.

The 5th Infantry Division's line didn't hold for long.

To be precise, from the moment the Instruction Brigade launched its first wave of assaults until the White Army's forward positions began to crumble completely, perhaps only twenty minutes had passed. The collapse across all sectors triggered a chain reaction.

When one position was breached, White Army soldiers in adjacent positions clearly saw an armored monster they had never encountered rampaging through their trenches, followed by swarms of Saxon infantry and armored vehicles.

...

The speed at which panic spread was faster than bullets at this moment.

The first to break was a regiment in the center. The positions of its three battalions had barely connected into a continuous line when the 115mm magitech mortar airbursts precisely blanketed them.

The regimental commander and his subordinate battalion commanders were dragged away by a few quick-witted veterans. No one cared about the division headquarters' "no retreat without orders" rule.

Because in this situation, that order possessed absolutely zero binding force... Even the barrier troops were running; why should the men at the bottom stay and die?

The 5th Infantry Division's forward defensive line began to fall back en masse.

But the act of "falling back" against an Instruction Brigade equipped with half-tracks was essentially suicide.

White Army soldiers running on two legs might cover two or-three hundred meters a minute at best, but a half-track could effortlessly catch up and open fire with a slight squeeze of the accelerator.

The White Army infantry fleeing their positions quickly realized it wasn't infantry chasing them, but Saxon armored vehicles.

White Army soldiers fell in droves on the roads. Many more simply threw down their weapons, raised their hands high, and dropped to the ground in surrender during the pursuit.

After the Instruction Brigade's first wave punched through the 5th Infantry Division's forward positions, conventional firepower began extending into the depth of the enemy lines.

77mm field gun shells arced overhead, raining down on the rear. The 115mm magitech mortars, directed by their guidance teams, began striking newly exposed assembly areas deep within the enemy formations.

In the brief intervals between shell impacts, Morin and Klaus led the first squad of "Thunder Warriors," leaping over the newly breached positions.

Nine armored "Thunder Warriors" plus Morin—ten men in total—formed a loose wedge and charged straight past the frontline troops still mopping up stragglers, driving deep into the 5th Infantry Division's rear.

Shells impacted less than two hundred meters ahead of them. The dirt and debris kicked up by the explosions pattered against their armor and bodies, but no one slowed down.

Morin even deliberately slowed his pace so the "Thunder Warriors" could keep up.

His potion-enhanced physical attributes, combined with newly learned low-tier acceleration spells, turned him into a near-un-targetable blur when sprinting at full speed.

Soon, after breaching the first line of defense, they encountered a congested dirt crossroad in the fields.

Massive numbers of White Army horse-drawn supply wagons blocked the intersection. Some were heading to the front to deliver supplies; others were fleeing in terror.

The drivers still sat on their wagons, staring dumbly at the ten gray silhouettes rapidly approaching from the distance.

Klaus and the other "Thunder Warriors" didn't slow down, much less bother to detour. They simply shoulder-barged the supply wagons blocking their path. The wagons flipped and practically disintegrated, spilling wooden crates everywhere.

Several drivers tumbled into the roadside ditches. By the time they crawled out of the muddy water, the ten silhouettes had vanished into the dust ahead.

Morin and his men had no time to deal with them.

Because he knew perfectly well the forces the Southern Army sent to plug the gap definitely wasn't just this one infantry division, unless Denikin truly wasn't afraid of being skewered.

Therefore, before the White Army's other supporting units arrived, they had to thoroughly shred this infantry division, completely stripping them of any ability to organize resistance.