No world lacked scum

Morin's gaze swept over the System Map. The small moving icons representing enemy patrols were clearly visible to him.

That one-sided intelligence advantage was their greatest asset.

"No, we keep moving." Morin made a decision that stunned everyone.

"Sir?!" Corporal Baumann's voice cracked.

"Follow my orders."

Morin spoke quietly, but his voice carried an unquestionable resolve.

"We'll stay off the main roads and weave through these country lanes and woods. Once we reach the outskirts, we'll reassess."

He pointed to the gaps between the patrol icons on the map, plotting an entirely new route in his mind.

"Everyone, hide your bicycles. We're proceeding on foot. Remember, not a sound."

The soldiers exchanged glances, but ultimately chose to obey.

Under Morin's lead, the six-man squad began moving like ghosts through the countryside near Seville.

The closer they got to the city, the thicker the tension in the air became.

Morin kept almost all his attention on the minimap in his field of vision.

Just then, several moving red diamond icons suddenly flashed at the edge of the map.

[Royal Army patrol (size: 12 men)]

"Halt! Take cover!"

Morin abruptly waved his hand, keeping his voice extremely low.

Everyone immediately dropped into a nearby irrigation ditch about half a person's height in depth. It seemed to have been abandoned and was overgrown with weeds, which now concealed Morin and his men.

Half a minute later, a patrol of Royal Army soldiers ambled along a field ridge not far from their hiding place, cigarettes dangling from their mouths.

They complained about something as they walked, utterly unaware of the danger just a few steps away.

Only after those red dots had moved far away on the map did Morin breathe a sigh of relief and gesture for everyone to continue.

The admiration in Corporal Baumann's eyes grew as he looked at Morin.

Their platoon leader seemed to have a third eye, always foreseeing danger before it arrived.

What they did not know was that this seemingly miraculous foresight was nothing more than having the entire map revealed for Morin, who possessed the System Map.

Enemy movements were almost completely transparent to him, while they knew nothing of his.

Thanks to that intelligence advantage, they bypassed several patrols without incident and successfully slipped into Seville's outskirts.

When they slipped safely into a residential neighborhood on the very edge of Seville, the scene before them gave Morin an entirely new understanding of just how low this army could sink.

Royal Army soldiers lounged against walls along the street in twos and threes, basking in the sun.

Some even swaggered into roadside cafés and "took" coffee and pastries from the terrified owners without paying a single penny.

At a nearby corner, several soldiers were gathered around a card game, shouting and arguing.

This hardly looked like an army about to face a major battle. They were nothing but a gang of bandits occupying a city!

Just then, something even more outrageous happened.

Four men in fine officers' uniforms laughed as they forcibly hauled three passing young girls off the street.

Ignoring their screams and struggles, they dragged them straight into a nearby two-story building that appeared to have been requisitioned.

The surrounding soldiers took it all in stride. Some even whistled and roared with laughter.

When the girls' families and some furious townspeople rushed forward to protest, the soldiers immediately raised their rifles.

Dark muzzles pointed at their unarmed countrymen, keeping them firmly outside.

The sight profoundly shocked Morin, who had come from an era of peace.

He struggled to associate these lawless thugs, who bullied the weak and even turned their guns on their own people, with the word "army."

Or rather, he could only think of the dark years in his homeland back in the other world. Perhaps this was what the armies of the warlords and reactionaries had been like...

Alongside his anger, a bold idea arose in his mind.

These officers, carried away with their own power, were practically handing him an opening.

He noticed that although the soldiers blocked the civilians, none dared approach the two-story building.

Clearly, they did not want to interrupt their superiors' "pleasure."

That also meant the building had now become a relatively isolated and safe target.

A cold gleam flashed in Morin's eyes.

How could someone who had seen the light tolerate darkness?

He gestured to Corporal Baumann and the others behind him, pointing toward the rear of the building.

Everyone immediately understood.

They silently circled around the street, using the buildings for cover, and soon reached the building's backyard.

Just as Morin had expected, there were no guards here.

The courtyard wall was low, and they easily climbed over it.

Only a few hens huddled against the wall in the backyard. They showed no reaction to Morin and the other intruders.

It was almost as though they were giving their silent consent.

The girls' cries and the men's brazen laughter upstairs kindled anger in Corporal Baumann and the others, while also providing perfect cover for their movements.

Morin gestured for everyone to sling their rifles onto their backs.

He shortened the sling of his Gew.98 rifle as far as it would go, securing the weapon tightly against his back, then lightly steadied it with one hand to keep it from knocking against anything or making noise as he moved.

At nearly 1.3 meters long, the rifle was a precise killing weapon in open terrain, but in cramped interiors like this, it became a burden.

The others immediately followed his example.

"Bayonets!"

Morin gave the order in a breathy whisper.

Shing—

Several faint sounds of scraping metal rang out as all six men, Morin included, drew their Model S1898 bayonets from the scabbards at their waists.

The Saxon Imperial Army's current standard-issue bayonet measured over half a meter in total length.

It was less a knife than a short sword, its edge gleaming coldly in the dim light.

Morin knew very well that this world had yet to be scarred by trench warfare, so the development of edged weapons for ordinary soldiers had largely stagnated.

Until purpose-built combat knives and military daggers appeared, these were the best weapons available to them for close-quarters fighting indoors.

He led the way to the building's back door and found it slightly ajar.

He gently pushed it open a crack and listened for a moment. Once he was certain no one was downstairs, he slipped inside first.

A smell of alcohol mixed with cologne washed over him.

They crept to the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor, where the voices above grew louder.

"What are you struggling for? Country girls like you wouldn't even get into my bed up north!"

"It's an honor for you to serve us. You should be grateful!"

"We're fighting the rebels and the Saxons for you! We're risking our lives, so you'd better behave yourselves and take good care of us!"

Listen to that. What fucking human being says something like that?