Chapter 1: What Is Your Mission Here?!

“Bang!”

“What is the

real

mission of your Military Observation Group in Seville?!”

Morin was completely jolted awake after taking a solid punch to the face.

As the scene before his eyes gradually sharpened, he saw a tall, menacing-looking white man wearing some kind of old military uniform. Morin was utterly bewildered.

“Where in the hell am I… Did I fall asleep while line-climbing after finally getting a holiday?”

The thought crossed Morin’s mind, but the searing pain in his cheek and jaw made him realize he wasn’t dreaming. He had genuinely just been punched, hard!

Immediately after, the fierce-looking white man rattled off a long string of words in a language Morin had never heard before.

Strangely, however, Morin found that he understood the man perfectly, as if it were his native tongue. He could even tell that the man didn’t sound particularly proficient in the language.

At this point, Morin was completely dumbfounded.

He was clearly still a cadet, so when did he become a Second Lieutenant? Even if he were to use the ranks from “Slavic Genshin,” he should be a Level 98 Lieutenant General… And this ‘Seville’… it was a place he’d never heard of…

Boop!

As Morin thought of the place name again, a cold, electronic female voice suddenly popped into his head.

[Current Information Collection: 5%]

[Intelligence Management System activating]

Morin felt the view before his eyes flicker, and then a game-like system interface appeared in his vision.

The main feature of this interface was a massive map, the outline of which resembled that of Europe, though most areas were currently in an unexplored state. The only area with any degree of exploration was a large city in the center of the current map, which, based on the text label, was ‘Seville,’ as the officer had just mentioned.

Morin estimated its location to be in the south of the country he knew as Spain.

He tried to zoom the map out to its smallest scale and saw a simple street map, along with a golden star marker—which he guessed represented himself.

On the left side of the map, there were several ‘tab’ buttons, and the view was currently fixed on the ‘Map’ tab. Below ‘Map,’ there were ‘Information,’ ‘Intelligence,’ and a few tabs marked with ‘???’

Morin tried to mentally click the ‘???’ tab, but only received the prompt: ‘Current information collection is insufficient, cannot be opened.’

He shifted his attention to the ‘Information’ tab, and new content duly appeared. The large map on the right was replaced by a document-like interface, though it currently contained only a few lines:

[Seville, capital of the Autonomous Community of Andalusia, with a city population of approximately 110,000, is the fourth-largest city in the Kingdom of Aragon.]

[The Saxon Empire, a powerful dual-monarchy federal state in Central Europa, ruled by the House of Wettin.]

“Damn it, what is Aragon and Saxon? Isn’t that just Spain and the German Empire (De Er)?!”

After reading this information, Morin mentally opened the ‘Intelligence’ tab. This time, the content was even sparser, containing only one line:

[Your Military Observation Group has been attacked and you are currently a prisoner, detained in the cellar of a private residence in Seville.]

As he looked at this information, a string of related details rapidly filled Morin’s mind, gradually outlining a somewhat hazy memory.

The owner of this body was also named Morin (Morin), and he hailed from the Saxon Empire, a country bordering the Kingdom of Aragon.

His specific identity was that of a young officer candidate who had just graduated from the Lichterfelde Central Military Academy. Oh, and ten days ago, he had been granted the rank of Second Lieutenant and was supposed to report to his assigned unit.

[Current Information Collection: 7%]

Morin was sorting through the jumbled memories in his mind, and just as he was about to switch the tab back to ‘Information,’ he was struck by a sweeping punch while still tied to the chair.

“Smack!”

This time, he was knocked over, chair and all.

The interface before his eyes was forcibly shut down, and his normal vision returned.

[Danger detected; system interface temporarily closed]

“Hey, what the f… doesn’t this system have a time-stop function?”

“Thud!”

A military boot heavily stomped on his lower abdomen, forcing Morin to let out a series of painful whimpers.

He couldn’t fathom how he had gone from playing a video game to being beaten up while hog-tied to a chair in the blink of an eye.

“Even though I finally got a holiday and was secretly being a casual player, never aiming for high ranks, and just collecting everything in the war zone… I don’t deserve this.”

Immediately, the fierce-looking white officer roughly righted Morin’s chair, then walked over to a nearby table and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

Only then did Morin have a chance to quickly observe his surroundings.

As the map had suggested earlier, this appeared to be the interior of a building—low ceiling, no windows, and illuminated solely by a few oil lamps. In the dim area beyond the lamplight, he could vaguely make out what looked like a wooden staircase. Morin guessed he was likely in a basement or a cellar.

Behind the table where the white officer was wiping his sweat, two other soldiers sat, wearing uniforms of the same style.

To his left was another older officer, also tied up, whose field gray uniform was, however, the same style as his own.

Morin finally understood his predicament. If this wasn’t some kind of absurd prank, he had most likely experienced the popular ‘transmigration’ trope, landing straight into a hellish opening: captured by hostile forces.

The white officer casually tossed the damp towel back onto the table. The mixture of sweat and bloodstains on it looked particularly glaring under the oil lamps.

He turned around and returned to Morin in a few strides, his heavy breathing gusting onto Morin’s face, carrying the foul odor of mixed tobacco and sweat.

“Bang!”

Another punch landed, squarely hitting Morin’s left cheek. His ears rang, and his mouth filled with the taste of rust.

“I’ll ask one more time! What is the

real

mission of your Saxon Empire’s Military Observation Group in Seville?!”

The officer’s roar exploded right next to his ear.

“Are you Saxon people trying to tear up the agreement and formally intervene in the civil war of the Kingdom of Aragon?!”

Wincing from the pain, Morin mentally cursed the officer’s ancestors.

Are these guys insane?

I don’t even know what you’re talking about, man!

He wanted to yell that back, but reason told him that speaking now would only earn him another beating, with no good outcome. The original owner of this body had a jumbled mess of memories, and regarding the supposed ‘mission,’ his mind was a complete blank.

The only thing he could do now was keep his mouth shut, playing the part of a mute gourd.

The two other officers sitting behind the table merely glanced over, then continued to puff on their smoke, completely unconcerned by the brutality.

“What courage is there in taking your anger out on a Second Lieutenant?”

A husky but strong voice came from the side.

“If you have any questions, you can direct them to me.”

Morin struggled to turn his head toward the source of the voice.

It was the older officer, the one wearing the same field gray uniform. Blood also stained his lips, and his face was bruised, but his back was ramrod straight, showing no sign of the humiliation of a captive.

Hearing this, the white officer slowly released Morin’s hair, a sneer spreading across his face.

“This is the first time I’ve ever heard a request like that…”

He turned, walked slowly over to the older officer, and without a word, punched him in the face.

“Bang!”

The chair legs scraped on the rough floor, making a grating noise.

The older officer’s head was knocked to the side, and a trickle of blood quickly appeared at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t utter a sound.

The white officer seemed unsatisfied and raised his hand, ready to strike again.

At that moment, the two officers who had been sitting behind the table finally moved. They extinguished their cigarettes, stood up, and walked over. One of them, who appeared to be higher in rank, raised a hand to stop his colleague from continuing the assault.

He walked up to the older officer, circled him, and meticulously examined the field gray uniform and the epaulets on his shoulders.

“August von Mackensen.”

The officer spoke, his voice much steadier than the other man’s.

“A Lieutenant General of the Saxon Empire Army. I truly didn’t expect to capture someone of your importance here.”

Morin’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn’t realized the old man next to him was a General. No wonder he’d spoken with such confidence…

Wait, why is that name so familiar?!

Before he could figure out the familiar name, a new question surfaced in Morin’s mind: how was a mere Second Lieutenant like himself captured alongside a General?

Meanwhile, the General, referred to as Makensen, slowly raised his head. Though his face was bruised, the innate haughtiness radiating from him had not diminished in the slightest. He even managed a sneer by twitching his bleeding lips.

“Since you know my identity, you should understand the nature of a Military Observation Group.”

Makensen’s voice remained level.

“We came at the invitation of the legitimate ruler of the Kingdom of Aragon, Ferdinand VII. We possess diplomatic immunity. Your open attack on our Military Observation Group is a blatant provocation against the Saxon Empire, and could even be interpreted as an act of war!”

“Diplomatic immunity?”

The second officer let out a slight laugh, as if he’d heard a great joke.

“General Makensen, this is Andalusia, not the capital, Madrid. Given the current state of the Kingdom of Aragon, the King’s orders don’t necessarily count for much here.”

He paused, his tone becoming more moderate and less aggressive.

“We have no intention of making an enemy of the Saxon Empire. However, General, you and your subordinate appeared in a place you shouldn’t have, so we simply want to know, why.”

He spread his hands in a gesture of reasonableness.

Hearing this, Lieutenant General Makensen stared intently at the speaking officer for a moment, then let out a cold laugh.

“Heh. You say we appeared where we shouldn’t have…”

“Then why are your Britannia troops here as well?”