About half an hour later, the sedan slowly drove into the gate of a manor.
The scale of the manor wasn’t particularly grand, but everywhere revealed an understated exquisiteness, clearly showing the owner’s extraordinary taste.
As soon as the car stopped, a butler in a tailcoat with ticulously combed hair ca forward and respectfully opened the door for him.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel Morin. Welco.” The butler’s voice was gentle and polite.
“Good evening.”
Morin nodded, sowhat surprised that the other party called out his na directly.
“I am the butler of this manor.” The other party seed to see his confusion and explained with a smile, “Madam Falkenstein instructed that if you ca, you must be well received.”
Madam Falkenstein… Sister Cecilia?
Morin was stunned for a mont, then reacted. He looked around this elegant manor and instantly understood.
“So this manor is also Madam Falkenstein’s property?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel.”
The butler replied: “It’s just that Madam rarely lives here, so the manor is lent to so business partners with good relationships, or like today, lent to the governnt and the military to hold so important events.”
Morin suddenly realized, sighing in his heart that this top rich woman’s properties were truly all over the Empire.
Sigh, ultimately lost to capital…
On the other side, the butler continued: “Calculating the ti, Madam should also arrive in Koblenz tomorrow to handle so affairs of the United Industries.”
“There are many guests attending the banquet tonight, and it will probably go on very late… I have prepared a room for you on the second floor. You can rest here and avoid the trouble of returning to the military camp late at night.”
“Alright, thank you very much.”
Morin nodded; this arrangent was suitable. So he turned to the Army Departnt driver who sent him and said: “Please help pass a ssage to Major Kleist and the others, saying that I won’t go back tonight, let them all rest well.”
“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel!”
After the driver left, Morin, guided by the butler, walked into the brightly lit banquet hall.
Many people had already gathered in the hall. n were dressed in splendid formal wear, and won were adorned with jewels.
The air was filled with a mixture of perfu, cigars, and premium alcohol.
As soon as Morin stepped into the hall, he instantly attracted everyone’s attention.
The lodious music in the banquet hall seed to pause for half a second the mont Morin stepped in.
Everyone’s gaze, like iron filings attracted by a magnet, focused on the door in unison.
Such a young Army Lieutenant Colonel was already eye-catching enough.
Moreover, his brand-new uniform was made incredibly dazzling by the row of dense dals on his chest flashing under the crystal chandelier.
Especially in the center of the collar, the unique “Blue Max” appeared extrely prominent under such lighting conditions.
“Oh, heavens… look, that’s Friedrich Morin!”
“It’s really him! Younger and more handso than the photos in the newspaper!”
“Those dals on his chest—I’ve never seen a young man able to wear so many!”
Suppressed whispers arose in the crowd.
Morin found that he was still not quite used to such occasions of public attention after leaving the military environnt.
However, he kept his face calm, looked straight ahead, passed through the crowd, and walked towards the host who had already noticed him and raised a glass to signal him—Minister of War General Falkenhayn.
“Good evening, General.” Morin stood at attention and gave a standard military salute.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Colonel Morin.”
General Falkenhayn had a genial smile on his face. He put down his wine glass, looked Morin up and down, and said with a smile: “No need for formalities. Today there are no generals and lieutenant colonels here, only patriots celebrating victory for the Empire.”
While speaking, he guided Morin to several “big shots” beside him who looked like they had extraordinary status.
“Co, let introduce you… This is the pride of our Empire, the hero who just triumphed from the Paris front line, Lieutenant Colonel Friedrich Morin.”
After a few simple exchanges, Morin finally figured out the true purpose of this banquet.
To put it bluntly, it was a high-end fundraising gala…
General Falkenhayn dragged him, a freshly baked, steaming “combat hero,” over as a mascot.
Just to make these fat-headed social celebrities, great nobles, and big rchants, under the inspiration of patriotic enthusiasm, more readily take money out of their pockets to support this war that had already begun to put pressure on the Empire’s finances.
“Hah, finished being a beast of burden and now dragged over to be bait—”
Morin mocked himself in his heart, but wore a proper smile on his face, clinking glasses with those big shots one by one.
“Lieutenant Colonel Morin, I toast you! For the Empire, for our great victory!” A steel tycoon with a beer belly said with a flushed face.
“For the Empire.” Morin sipped the wine, concise and comprehensive.
Soon, he was surrounded in the center by a group of “patriots.”
They looked excited and talked eloquently, as if they were not drinking famous wine in a comfortable manor in the rear, but really charging into battle with Morin under the walls of Paris.
“Lieutenant Colonel, I heard that the undead in Paris piled up like mountains, is it true?”
A person who looked like a banker asked curiously.
“Rumors are sowhat exaggerated.” Morin replied with a smile.
“Then when the Eiffel Tower fell, did it crush thousands of undead creatures like knocking down dominoes?”
Another tall and thin noble gestured excitedly, asking a question that Morin found both unnutritious and very hellish.
“The scene was indeed spectacular.” Morin dealt with it vaguely.
He didn’t want to talk about the real situation of the battlefield with these people.
Those deaths, blood, and fears were things these pampered people could never understand.
Talking to them about this was tantamount to casting pearls before swine.
Even more, so people with higher status, stimulated by alcohol, began to talk nonsense.
“To be honest, if not for my old bones failing , I really want to go to the battlefield personally and chop off a few Gauls’ heads! Let them see the power of us Saxons!”
A gray-haired old count waved his arms, spittle flying.
Morin looked at his body hollowed out by wine and won, thinking: With your condition, you’d probably die of exhaustion halfway before reaching the front line.
These shaless remarks of “I can do it if I go” even made General Falkenhayn standing beside Morin frown slightly.
He subconsciously looked at Morin, sowhat worried whether this young officer who had just crawled out of a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood would do sothing radical because he couldn’t stand this bullshit.
After all, young people were full of vigor and had outstanding military exploits; having a temper was normal.
However, Falkenhayn surprisingly found that Morin always wore that polite and distant smile on his face.
Whether facing stupid questions or arrogant boasting, his expression didn’t change at all.
He could even chi in from ti to ti, saying so polite remarks like “You are right” and “The Empire needs talents like you.”
This maturity and emotional managent ability far beyond his peers made these “patriots” feel respected one by one, grinning from ear to ear.
General Falkenhayn’s gaze towards Morin underwent so subtle changes again.
He originally thought Morin was just a tactical genius, an excellent commander…
But now it seed that this young man also understood so other things.
“Interesting—” Falkenhayn comnted in his heart.
With great difficulty, this group of excited n dispersed. Just as Morin wanted to find a corner to catch his breath, another wave of “attacks” followed one after another.
A group of noble ladies and madams wearing gorgeous evening gowns surrounded him instantly like sharks slling blood.
“Lieutenant Colonel, you are so brave!”
“The scars on your face add to your charm!”
“May I have the honor of inviting you for a dance?”
Twittering of swallows and orioles, waves of fragrance.
Morin had inherited his father and grandfather’s “good looks.” Handso features combined with a lean and strong body shaped by long-term military training, plus that uniform representing power and glory, and the few scars on his face that added manliness…
For the noble won on this occasion, two words to describe him would be—Succubus.
Not to ntion the row of dals on his chest that could blind people’s eyes, and that Blue Max symbolizing the highest honor.
If it were Morin before ti travel, facing such a scene, he would definitely be like a fish in water.
But now, he really had no thoughts.
Even though he had held back for almost 8 months without “taking off.”
On one hand, the timing was inappropriate, and the eloquent talk of those “patriots” just now sowhat affected his mindset.
On the other hand, after seeing Cecilia’s grace and luxury, Helga’s “magnificence,” and Patricia’s “intelligence”…
These vulgar flours and rouges in front of him really couldn’t arouse any interest in him.
He just dealt with them politely like this, smilingly rejecting one after another overt or covert invitations, feeling the muscles on his face about to stiffen.
Unknown how much ti passed, the banquet finally ended…
Those big shots left one after another with slight intoxication and satisfaction.
Morin also extricated himself from a baroness who was overly enthusiastic—she almost wanted to drag him directly into her carriage.
After tidying up his clothes, Morin bid farewell to General Falkenhayn.
The Minister of War looked at him with an indescribable approval in his eyes, as if saying “You did very well.”
And Morin just smiled and gave an impeccable military salute.
Then, led by the attendant, he fled to the independent suite prepared for him on the second floor.
“Bang!”
The mont he entered the room and closed the door, the smile on Morin’s face completely disappeared.
The heavy door isolated all the noise outside.
Morin leaned back against the door panel and let out a long breath of turbid air.
He pulled at the collar that was sowhat strangling, casually took off the uniform jacket hung with dals that made him the focus of the audience, and threw it onto the sofa nearby.
Without the restraint of the uniform, he relaxed completely.
He walked to the window and pushed it open, letting the cold night air rush in, trying to blow away the residual luxurious aura belonging to the banquet hall in the room, and also blow away the confusion in his mind.
Outside the window was the quiet night view of the manor. In the distance were the dots of lights of Koblenz city.
Further away was the entire massive Saxon Empire.
After blowing the night wind for a while, Morin returned to the center of the room and fell headlong onto the soft big bed, lying in a “big” (大) shape, staring blankly at the gorgeous crystal chandelier on the ceiling.
The light refracted by the chandelier was sowhat dazzling.
Tonight’s banquet made him feel fatigue stronger than those fierce battles.
This fatigue did not co from the body, but from the depths of the heart.
At the banquet, he saw the other side of the Empire.
Not the loyalty and bravery of the frontline soldiers, not the frugality of the people in the rear, but the extravagance and numbness of the upper class.
Those pot-bellied rchants and sleek-haired nobles shouted the most passionate patriotic slogans and discussed “anecdotes” of the distant battlefield, as if war was just an exciting gladiatorial performance.
They cheered for victory, toasted to heroes, generously donated so money that was a drop in the bucket for them, and then continued to enjoy the peace exchanged for the soldiers’ lives with peace of mind.
And those noble ladies and misses, what they chased was not the hero himself, but the halo above the hero’s head, the glory and status represented by that crisp uniform and shiny dals.
In their eyes, he might not be essentially different from a piece of rare jewelry or a famous racehorse.
This huge contrast made Morin feel waves of nausea and powerlessness.
He thought of those comrades in the muddy trenches, gnawing on black bread, ready to die at any ti.
Thought of veterans like Klaus, whose biggest wish was just to go ho alive and reunite with their wives and children.
In the mouths of these big shots, their lives were just cold numbers, chips exchanged for rit and wealth.
And he himself had now beco a part of this system…
It was also these big shots who, for the so-called “land under the sun,” for those cold comrcial interests and political gas, unhesitatingly tied the entire country to this crazy war machine.
Before the outbreak of the war in August 1914, everyone clearly had the opportunity to step on the brakes.
But every one of them chose to step on the gas pedal to the floor.
He was now promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and awarded countless honors. He seed infinitely glorious, but in fact, he was tied deeper to this chariot.
If he could perhaps find a chance to jump ship before, now with the leapfrog promotion in rank and the halo of “Hero of the Empire” added to him, the hope of jumping ship had beco extrely slim.
“Where you sit determines how you think…”
Morin only now truly realized the weight of this old saying.
When you are in a certain position, enjoying the power and benefits brought by this position, your thoughts and your stance will be unknowingly changed by it.
He was now a mber of the privileged class he once despised.
He even began to understand how much courage it took to betray one’s own class.
Morin thought of that “saint” who overturned an old world in the history of his own world, and finally understood why such a person only appeared once in five thousand years…
“But I can’t beco him.” Morin said to himself in his heart.
He didn’t have such great ideals, nor the determination to sacrifice everything.
He was just an ordinary person who wanted to survive in this damn world and do sothing he thought was right along the way.
A soul from another world with a little ability.
So any radical move at this ti was tantamount to suicide—he would be crushed to pieces by this huge imperial machine.
“So if I want to do sothing, I still have to continue to improve my strength.” Morin murmured to himself.
Only with enough strength could he have the right to speak, and change from a pawn on the chessboard to a chess player who could move other pieces slightly.
Only then might he truly be able to do sothing.
Just as Morin had thousands of thoughts and was planning a path for his future, a slight knock on the door interrupted his contemplation.
“Knock, knock, knock…”
The sound was very light and restrained.
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