What is your mission here?!

"Bang!"

"What is your military observer delegation's real mission in Seville?!"

Morin only came fully awake after taking a solid punch to the face.

As his vision gradually cleared, he stared in bewilderment at the tall, vicious-looking white man standing before him in some sort of old-fashioned military uniform.

Where the hell have I ended up... Did I finally get home on leave, then fall asleep grinding the tech tree?

The thought crossed Morin's mind, but the waves of sharp pain radiating through his cheek and jaw told him this probably wasn't a dream.

Someone really had just punched him square in the face!

Then the vicious-looking white man in front of him rattled off a long string of words in a language Morin had never heard before.

Strangely, however, Morin found that he understood the man as easily as if he were speaking his native language.

He could even tell that the man didn't seem particularly fluent in it himself.

Now Morin was completely baffled.

He was a cadet. Since when had he become a second lieutenant?

Even if they were going by the ranks in that "Slavic Genshin" game, he should have been a level 98 lieutenant general...

And this "Seville" was a place he'd never even heard of...

Wait, that's not right!

As Morin thought of the place's name again, a cold, electronic female voice sounded in his head.

[Current information collection progress... 5%]

[Intelligence management system activating...]

Morin felt his vision flicker, and then an interface resembling a game's UI appeared in his field of view.

Most of the interface was occupied by a huge map. Its outline resembled Europe, except that most of its regions were currently unexplored.

The only place with any appreciable exploration progress was a large city in the center of the map. Its label identified it as "Seville," the place the officer had just mentioned.

Judging by its position, Morin placed it roughly in the south of the country he knew as Spain.

He tried reducing the map's scale to its minimum and saw a simple street map, along with a golden star marker—which presumably represented him.

Along the left side of the map were several buttons resembling tabs, with "Map" currently selected.

Below "Map" were tabs labeled "Information," "Intelligence," and several marked "???".

Morin tried mentally clicking one of the "???" tabs, but all he got was a notice reading, "Insufficient information collection progress. Unable to unlock."

He turned his attention to the "Information" tab, and sure enough, something new appeared.

The large map on the right switched to a document-like interface, though it currently contained only a handful of lines.

[Seville, capital of the autonomous region of Andalusia, has a population of approximately 110,000 and is the fourth-largest city in the Kingdom of Aragon.]

[Saxon Empire, a federal state under a dualistic monarchy located in central Europa. A powerful empire ruled by the House of Wettin of Saxony.]

Fuck, Aragon and Saxony? Aren't those just Spain and the German Empire?!

After reading this information, Morin mentally opened the "Intelligence" tab. This time, there was even less content—just a single line.

[Your military observer delegation came under attack. You are currently a prisoner, held in the cellar of a residential building in Seville.]

As he read, a series of related facts rapidly filled Morin's mind, gradually forming a somewhat hazy set of memories.

The original owner of this body was also named Morin and came from another country bordering the Kingdom of Aragon—the Saxon Empire.

More specifically, he was a young officer candidate who had just graduated from Richterfield Central Military Academy...

Oh, he had been commissioned as a second lieutenant ten days ago and was supposed to report to his assigned unit.

[Current information collection progress... 7%]

Morin sorted through the jumble of memories in his head. Just as he was about to switch back to the "Information" tab, another hook struck him as he sat bound to a chair with his arms behind his back.

"Smack!"

This time, the blow knocked both him and the chair onto the floor.

The interface before his eyes was forcibly closed, restoring his normal vision.

[Danger detected. System interface temporarily closed.]

Hey, what the fuck... This system doesn't stop time?

"Thud!"

A military boot slammed into his lower abdomen, leaving Morin able to do nothing but groan in pain.

He couldn't understand it. He had been playing a game just a moment ago. How had he ended up tied to a chair and beaten senseless in the blink of an eye?

Sure, I finally got home on leave and sneaked in some brain-dead Air Arcade grinding, never climbing and grabbing every ground target, but that doesn't deserve this...

Then the vicious-looking white officer roughly hauled his chair upright again, walked over to a nearby table, and picked up a towel to wipe the sweat from his face.

Only then did Morin have a chance to take a quick look around.

Much as the map had indicated, he seemed to be inside a building. The ceiling was low, there were no windows, and a few oil lamps provided all the light.

In the gloom beyond the reach of the lamps, he could vaguely make out something resembling a wooden staircase.

Morin guessed he was somewhere like a basement or cellar.

Behind the table where the white officer was wiping his sweat sat two other soldiers wearing the same style of uniform as him.

To Morin's left, an elderly officer in a different uniform was also bound with his arms behind his back. His field grey uniform, however, matched Morin's own.

Now Morin had a rough grasp of his situation.

Unless this was some insanely elaborate prank, he had probably stumbled into the ever-popular transmigration scenario—and landed straight in a nightmare opening where he had been captured by hostile forces.

The white officer tossed the damp towel back onto the table. Its stains of sweat and blood looked especially harsh beneath the oil lamps.

He turned and crossed the distance to Morin in a few strides, his heavy breath washing over Morin's face with an unpleasant mixture of tobacco and sweat.

"Bang!"

Another punch came crashing in, striking Morin's left cheek and leaving his ears ringing and his mouth full of the taste of iron.

"I'll ask you one more time. What is your Saxon military observer delegation's real mission in Seville?"

The officer's roar exploded beside his ear.

"Are you Saxons planning to tear up the agreement and formally intervene in the Kingdom of Aragon's civil war?!"

Morin grimaced in pain, silently cursing every last one of the man's ancestors.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

Man, I don't even know what you're talking about!

He desperately wanted to shout that back, but reason told him that opening his mouth now would achieve nothing except another beating.

The original owner's memories were a complete mess. As for this supposed "mission," his mind was utterly blank.

The only thing he could do now was clamp his mouth shut and refuse to say a word.

The other two officers behind the table merely glanced over before going back to smoking, indifferent to the brutality.

"Taking your anger out on a second lieutenant hardly makes you impressive."

A hoarse but powerful voice came from beside him.

"If you have questions, you can direct them at me."

Morin turned his head with difficulty toward the voice.

It was the elderly officer wearing the same field grey uniform as him.

Blood stained the corner of his mouth, and his face was covered in bruises, but his back remained ramrod straight. He showed none of a prisoner's bedraggled air.

At those words, the white officer slowly released his grip on Morin's hair, a vicious grin spreading across his face.

"That's the first time I've ever heard someone ask for that..."

He turned and walked slowly over to the elderly officer. Without a word, he punched him in the face.

"Bang!"

The chair legs scraped across the rough floor with a piercing screech.

The elderly officer's head snapped to one side, and blood soon seeped from the corner of his mouth, but he refused to make a sound.

Apparently still unsatisfied, the white officer raised his hand to strike again.

At that moment, the two officers who had remained seated behind the table finally moved.

They stubbed out their cigarettes, stood, and walked over.

One of them, who appeared to be of higher rank, raised a hand to stop his colleague from continuing the beating.

He approached the elderly officer and circled him, carefully examining his field grey uniform and the epaulettes on his shoulders.

"August von Mackensen."

The officer spoke in a far steadier voice than the first man.

"A lieutenant general of the Saxon Imperial Army... I certainly never expected to capture someone of your stature here."

Morin's heart gave a violent jolt. He had never imagined that the old man beside him was actually a general.

No wonder he'd sounded so confident...

Wait, why does that name sound so familiar too?!

Before he could place the familiar name, another question surfaced in Morin's mind—how had a mere second lieutenant like him ended up captured alongside a general?

Meanwhile, the general addressed as Mackensen slowly raised his head. Though his face was battered, the arrogance that radiated from deep within him hadn't diminished in the slightest.

He even pulled at the bleeding corner of his mouth, forming a contemptuous expression.

"If you know who I am, you should understand the nature of a military observer delegation."

Mackensen's voice remained steady.

"We came at the invitation of Fernando VII, the lawful ruler of the Kingdom of Aragon, and enjoy diplomatic immunity... Your brazen attack on our military observer delegation is an open provocation against the Saxon Empire. Could it not also be considered an act of war?"

"Diplomatic immunity?"

The newly arrived officer chuckled, as though he had just heard an enormous joke.

"General Mackensen, this is Andalusia, not the capital, Madrid... Given the Kingdom of Aragon's current situation, the king's orders don't necessarily carry any weight here."

He paused, his tone softening and losing some of its aggression.

"We have no intention of making an enemy of the Saxon Empire... But General, you and your men appeared somewhere you shouldn't have been. We simply want to know why."

He spread his hands, adopting an air of reasonableness.

Lieutenant General Mackensen studied the officer who had spoken for a while, then gave a cold laugh.

"Heh... You say we appeared somewhere we shouldn't have been..."

"Then why are your Britannian troops here too?"