What did you say your brigades were called?

More than one armed soldier had stormed into the cellar, so there was no real question of whom to rescue first.

But sometimes, presenting the "proper" attitude was very important.

Before Morin had even finished speaking, a sharp dagger sliced through the ropes binding his hands.

Meanwhile, another tin can simply hoisted Lieutenant General Mackensen, who had taken quite a beating for his foul mouth, onto his shoulder.

Judging by his limp posture, he was clearly badly injured. He probably could not even walk at this point.

Supported by a soldier, Morin staggered a couple of steps before steadying himself against the pain that made his whole body feel as though it were falling apart.

He looked around, his gaze sweeping over the bodies of the four Britannian officers on the floor, and a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.

"Please give me a moment."

He pulled away from the soldier supporting him and crouched down, sucking in sharp breaths as pain shot through every part of his body.

First, he searched the major who had made those threats and quickly found the man's officer identification.

Then he searched out the other three men's identification documents, one by one.

Finally, he slung the document bag the young officer had dropped over his shoulder as well.

Since acquiring key information could increase that "information collection" thing, perhaps the documents or maps in this bag would prove useful too.

Only after finishing all this did he return to the tin-can soldier and signal that he was ready.

The soldier asked no questions, merely bracing him again with an armored arm. Only now did Morin notice what seemed to be an almost imperceptible blue glow flowing across the soldier's armor and round shield.

Before Morin could ask anything, the soldier, whose strength clearly far exceeded an ordinary person's, took him straight out of the cellar.

The scene here was even more gruesome than the one below.

This appeared to be the ground-floor hall of a house, but the earlier violent explosion had pulverized everything inside.

The wreckage of furniture mingled with fragments of the building, and the air reeked of gun smoke and dust.

More than a dozen bodies and severed limbs belonging to Brit... Holy Britannian soldiers lay strewn across the floor. The thick stench of blood almost seemed to clog his nose and mouth.

Morin fought down the nausea rising in his throat and followed close behind the rescue force as they left the building.

It was night outside, but none of the streetlights were on. Only the cold moonlight and distant flames provided a little illumination.

By that dim light, Morin made out the situation outside.

Besides the tin cans who had stormed the cellar, another half-squad of identically equipped heavy soldiers stood guard with rifles in the shadows along the street.

These tin-can soldiers clearly possessed strength and stamina unlike those of ordinary troops.

Despite wearing full suits of heavy armor, they also carried swords and shields on their backs, along with some kind of larger-caliber rifle.

One of them even had a machine gun that looked remarkably like an MG08/15 slung over his shoulder...

The Saxon soldiers standing guard around them, dressed in the same field grey uniforms as Morin, looked much more normal.

There were a little over thirty of them, mostly armed with bolt-action rifles, and they were using the buildings on both sides of the street to establish a temporary defensive line.

Aside from them, there was another group...

Their clothing was a complete mishmash: old military uniforms, workers' clothes, and even shirts and waistcoats. Their weapons were just as varied.

Morin immediately recalled the young officer's earlier report—"another group of unidentified armed personnel."

These must be them.

Just then, a Saxon soldier came racing up from the end of the street in a crouch.

He headed straight for an officer who appeared to be in command and reported in a low voice:

"Captain, the Britannians have caught on! They're ignoring the feint on their flank and moving their main force toward us! Our allies' blocking force is about to get pinned down!"

No sooner had he finished than heavy gunfire erupted down a distant street. The whistles of stray bullets cutting through the night were clearly audible.

The nearby Saxon soldiers immediately aimed their rifles toward the gunfire, and the tension shot through the roof.

"Understood."

The commander addressed as captain remained perfectly composed.

"Tell the blocking force to hold on a little longer. Once we've pulled out of here, they are to disengage immediately along their original route! If the Britannians are determined to send reinforcements here, they won't bother with them!"

Soon, still supported by the soldier, Morin followed the main force as they hurried through the alleys, retreating toward the outskirts.

Along the way, he saw several other officers in field grey uniforms being carried on stretchers in the middle of the column.

They were probably survivors from the military observer delegation as well, though he had no idea where they had been held.

Everyone ran flat out. After they had covered roughly two blocks, Morin suddenly heard a chilling shriek overhead.

Whoosh—

Boom!

Before he could react, a shell exploded in the town they had just fled, its impact roaring behind them.

After they had run another stretch, a second explosion sounded behind them.

Morin stole a glance over his shoulder. This time, the flash of the explosion was clearly closer to the block he had just left.

Ranging shots? Looks like an observer is directing them... but where are they watching from?

Boom!

By the time the third explosion sounded, Morin had already turned to watch the direction they had come from. This shell appeared to have landed extremely close to that house.

Will they keep adjusting their aim? Or...

The question flashed through Morin's mind, but he did not have to wait long for an answer.

Whoosh—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

A string of piercing shrieks passed overhead. Moments later, thunderous explosions roared one after another. The artillery batteries fired five full salvos.

Even though they had already run a considerable distance, Morin could feel the ground trembling faintly beneath his feet.

He instinctively looked back, saw nothing but flames towering into the sky, and felt a chill of belated fear.

The captain raised a hand, checked his pocket watch by the firelight, and murmured calmly:

"Those gun-haulers actually showed up on time for once."

That single sentence made every hair on Morin's body stand on end.

He immediately understood the Saxon soldiers' plan.

If the rescue had failed, or had taken just another minute or two, he and Lieutenant General Mackensen, along with their captured colleagues...

Possibly even the rescue force itself, would have been erased from the world alongside the enemy by that "punctual" barrage.

That's ruthless. They were ready to write off an army lieutenant general just like that... Morin marveled silently.

The column did not pause for the bombardment. It continued marching swiftly toward safety.

At that point, the captain strode over to the armed group in their mismatched clothes and approached a heavily bearded middle-aged man who looked like their leader.

"Thank you very much for your support, my friend."

There was genuine gratitude in the captain's voice.

"But we still need more time. I hope you can cover us a little longer. We must ensure General Mackensen reaches the rear safely."

Morin pricked up his ears, his curiosity about this mysterious armed group reaching its peak.

Then he heard the commander continue, "Afterward, please inform your headquarters that the Saxon military will remember the invaluable assistance the International Brigades provided tonight."

Wait, what brigades did you just say?

When the words "International Brigades" reached Morin's ears, he felt as though a 150 mm heavy gun had been pressed against his forehead and fired.

His head rang, and his mind went completely blank.

If his meager knowledge of history served him correctly, this Saxon Empire looked in every respect like a copy of the German Empire... a federal state with a dualist constitutional monarchy.

Then...

How could it be fighting shoulder to shoulder in the same trenches with an obviously left-wing force like the International Brigades?!

Was this World War I or World War II?

What kind of absurd direction was this world heading in?!