Neither holy nor an empire...

"General Mackensen, we have shown you sufficient respect. We hope you will show us the respect we deserve in return."

The middle-aged officer questioning him stared at Mackensen with a hostile expression and said:

"At the very least, please use my country's full name when referring to it..."

Mackensen gave a cold laugh.

"Its full name... the Holy Britannian Empire? What the hell do you have to do with anything holy?"

"Neither holy nor an empire..."

Well, this one certainly didn't know when to hold his tongue either.

Their exchange, however, gave Morin more information in a very short time. The mysterious voice in his head spoke again, and the contents of the "Information" screen updated along with it.

[Current information collection progress... 9%]

[The Holy Britannian Empire: its capital is located on Britannia Island, and it holds extensive colonies around the world. It is an autocratic state ruled dictatorially by the emperor's blood relatives.]

This time, even without the system's explanation, the name alone told Morin that this was definitely an alternate-world Britain...

Although Morin had no idea what connection this country had to the "superpower" from a certain old anime and game franchise.

One thing was certain, though: this country probably wasn't on particularly good terms with the Saxon Empire...

For some reason, both empires had sent military forces to the "Kingdom of Aragon," where they currently were, but it seemed they had yet to formally engage each other.

And these Britannian soldiers seemed to have unlocked the "alternate-world Li Yunlong" achievement...

They had ambushed a military observer delegation from the Saxon Empire and captured Morin and the others.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant General Mackensen's foul mouth had earned him a suitably "friendly" response.

After several heavy punches landed with dull thuds, Lieutenant General Mackensen toppled to the floor, chair and all, with a crash.

And these three Britannian...

All right, Holy Britannian officers hadn't forgotten Morin, either. Another round of punches and kicks knocked him to the floor as well.

Then two pistols were pressed against Morin's and Lieutenant General Mackensen's crotches.

"Our patience has limits. I'll ask you one last time: are you Saxons preparing to intervene in the Kingdom of Aragon's civil war? What are your military deployments?!"

"Just shoot me. I really don't fucking know anything..."

Morin's voice was weak. All he wanted now was for them to make it quick, stop torturing him, and, above all, spare him the agony of having his dick and balls blown off.

But after he said that, the Britannian officer standing before him put away his pistol, a cold smile appearing on his face.

"Very good. Your loyalty to your country has earned my respect. But that only makes me more certain that you possess valuable intelligence..."

Lying on the floor, Morin didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He turned his head, spat out a mouthful of bloody foam, and said:

"No, seriously, what the hell are you thinking...? I'm just a lowly second lieutenant. How could I possibly have the military intelligence you want?"

"The very fact that you're only a second lieutenant is what makes this so suspicious!"

"If you weren't someone important, or didn't possess important intelligence, why were you traveling with a delegation of officers whose lowest rank was major?! And why were you sharing a car with a lieutenant general?!"

"Wait... so that's what this is about?"

Thud!

Another brutal kick landed, making Morin's vision darken.

"Keep up the act all you like. Once you've been taken to a proper interrogation room in the rear, I'll give you a warm 'welcome.' Let's hope you're still as tight-lipped then as you are now..."

The Britannian officer bared his teeth in a vicious grin.

Just as he was about to say more, the cellar door opened, and a rather young-looking officer hurried down the stairs in a panic.

The young officer urgently reported something to his colleagues in a language Morin had never heard before.

To Morin's astonishment, however, he could understand it.

The language's intonation and pronunciation sounded somewhat like English from the world he had lived in before his transmigration.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on distinguishing the jumble of syllables. His mind automatically translated them into something he could understand.

"Major! The temporary positions on the perimeter are under attack! It's the Saxons, and another group... another group of unidentified armed men!"

The young officer's voice was full of panic.

As he spoke, muffled explosions and intermittent gunfire drifted through the open cellar doorway, much clearer than before.

The atmosphere in the cellar instantly grew tense.

The Britannian major in charge looked furious. He kicked Lieutenant General Mackensen's chair.

"Move them to the rear immediately! Hurry!"

"Yes, sir!"

The young officer accepted the order and immediately turned to run up the stairs, intending to fetch help.

But as soon as he stepped onto the first stair, a deafening blast erupted outside.

Boom!

The entire cellar shook, and dust showered down from overhead.

The young officer stumbled and tumbled down the short wooden staircase with a scream.

Before he could get up, a tall, dark figure leaped down through the cellar entrance.

The figure landed steadily, bringing a heavy military boot down hard on the young officer's chest.

A crack rang out—the sound of ribs breaking.

Before the young officer could scream, the dark figure aimed his rifle at his head.

Bang!

The close-range blast thundered through the cellar, making Morin's eardrums sting.

The young officer's head burst like a watermelon, splattering red and white matter everywhere.

Three or four more dark figures streamed in immediately afterward.

They moved swiftly and worked in perfect coordination, making almost no unnecessary noise.

The two remaining Britannian officers finally reacted, raising their weapons and pulling their triggers at the cellar entrance.

But apart from the gunshots, all that followed were several sharp metallic clangs and sparks flashing in the darkness.

The next instant, three dark figures charged forward too quickly for Morin to follow.

They held some sort of round shields in front of them, impossibly blocking pistol bullets fired at close range before slamming into their respective targets and knocking them down.

Shhk! Shhk!

The sound of blades tearing through cloth and piercing flesh followed.

The three Britannian officers collapsed into pools of blood before they could even grunt.

The major who had beaten Morin and Lieutenant General Mackensen and threatened them moments earlier fell beside Morin, his body twitching.

His eyes were wide open, staring at Morin in death as though he couldn't believe he had died just like that.

Morin had no attention to spare for the dead man.

His entire focus was on the attackers who had appeared so suddenly.

The fight had ended so quickly. Only a few seconds had passed from beginning to end.

Only now, by the light of the still-burning oil lamp, did Morin get a clear look at their clothing.

The attackers wore Field Grey uniforms in the same style as his and Lieutenant General Mackensen's.

That was good news. It meant these attackers were most likely on their side.

But over their uniforms, these armed men wore breastplates, pauldrons, and arm guards that gleamed coldly in the light.

The plate armor covered the soldier's chest, shoulders, and arms. Its design was archaic yet powerful, and it looked incredibly heavy.

On his head sat a bucket-shaped helmet that completely covered his face.

What truly made Morin's brain freeze was the sight of the soldier pulling a still-dripping one-handed sword from the Britannian major's corpse, casually wiping the blood off on the dead man's clothes, and returning it to the scabbard at his waist.

Bolt-action rifles, plate armor, and melee weapons...

What the hell was this combination?

Morin felt his understanding of the world shatter all over again.

Why were there medieval soldiers in tin cans now, too?

But he couldn't worry about all that right now. After only a moment's thought, he addressed the armed soldiers in a weak voice:

"I'm fine! Help the lieutenant general first!"