Hearing Master Haber's words, Morin fell silent.
Only the sound of the two men breathing and the occasional distant roar of vehicle engines remained in the tent.
Morin flipped through a few pages of the document. Although he couldn't quite understand the technical parameters, the system's [Intelligence] and [Information] interfaces had unlocked several entries, explaining the approximate effects of the potion to Morin in plain language:
It roughly provided a 50% physical enhancement effect and had a certain probability of stimulating spellcasting abilities.
From any angle, this "modification serum" was an incredibly overpowered item, which also brought up a question in Morin's mind... He closed the document, considered his phrasing for a while, and then spoke in as casual a tone as possible.
"Master Haber, since this modification serum provides such a massive enhancement to the human body... does no one else desire this power?"
Master Haber raised an eyebrow, crossing his hands on his lap, and looked at Morin.
"You might as well speak plainly, Friedrich... We're the only two here anyway, and we've been through life and death together~"
Since the other party put it that way, Morin leaned close to his ear and lowered his voice:
"The high echelons and nobles of the Empire... do they not desire this power? With me standing here as a living example, do they really have no thoughts about it?"
Master Haber's expression shifted, clearly not expecting Morin to ask this suddenly.
He pondered for quite a while, tapping his fingers alternately on his knee, seemingly considering how to phrase his response. After a moment, he continued: "The operations in Paris and information related to the modification potion have a very high security clearance; not everyone is qualified to access them."
Master Haber paused here.
"But those who should know—the core royalty and major Junker nobles... couldn't wait to try it. Among those I mentioned earlier who died suddenly, there were scions of the royal family and major nobles."
Morin opened his mouth, then closed it.
Well, that explained it.
Master Haber leaned back in his chair, his tone flat as if reading an experimental report.
"After the modification serum was developed, the top echelons of the Empire indeed wanted to keep this power in their own hands... Upon entering the clinical trial phase, besides ordinary test subjects, two scions from major Junker noble families and a member of the royal family were slotted in."
"But of this first batch of six clinical test subjects in total, only two survived."
"The remaining four, including that royal scion and the two noble scions, first suffered mental breakdowns and began indiscriminately attacking those around them after injection, and then, unable to control their bodies' reactions, ultimately died suddenly from rapid systemic organ failure."
Morin didn't speak, because the system's [Intelligence] interface directly displayed the list of those who died suddenly in the experiment.
[Prince Joachim, sixth son of Saxon Emperor Albert II, 25 years old, First Lieutenant in the 1st Foot Guards Regiment]
[Friedrich von Ostern-Platen, scion of an East Saxon military Junker family, 28 years old, Captain in the 45th Infantry Regiment]
[Jürgen von Kleist, scion of a Silesian emerging commercial Junker family, 22 years old, Second Lieutenant in the Royal Saxon 101st Grenadier Regiment]
They were all young men. It was obvious that these "important figures" of the Saxon Empire indeed hoped their family descendants could master this ability.
Seeing Morin remain silent, Master Haber continued:
"That's why I said it's not just a matter of physical fitness... Psychological resilience, stress tolerance, battlefield experience formed under prolonged high-intensity environments... these intangible things have an immense impact on the survival rate."
Morin was completely speechless now.
Four dead out of six, a survival rate just over thirty percent... And among the four dead, three were high-ranking scions, while the two who survived were actually ordinary test subjects.
This showed that in the face of life and death, status and bloodline were completely useless.
Then, a somewhat unkind thought popped into Morin's mind; he didn't know whether he should thank these noble scions for helping "test the poison."
Morin: "So with this survival rate laid bare, they don't dare step up anymore?"
"You put it mildly," Master Haber's mouth twitched. "They don't dare... These people in high positions value their lives very much."
Morin almost laughed out loud but forced himself to hold it in.
"Then according to your plan, Master, how many people are you picking from the instruction unit?"
"We'll draw 30 first."
Master Haber thought for a moment:
"For the remaining 10, the Army General Staff will select the best candidates from other units."
Morin didn't express an opinion, merely nodding.
But he knew very well—the Empire and the military high command couldn't possibly allow all the created 'super soldiers' to be concentrated solely in the instruction unit. Even if this unit currently had close ties to the Crown Prince, and even if he himself was close to the army high command, power had to be decentralized where necessary. "It's not like they're completely without precautions..."
This thought circled in his mind, but Morin didn't let anything show on his face.
After exchanging a few more opinions with Master Haber, Morin immediately decided not to waste time and return to the Kampfgruppe camp today to select the men.
He first went to find the Crown Prince privately and briefly explained the situation.
Crown Prince Georg was clearly aware of this matter, so after listening, he just looked at Morin for a while, then nodded and told him to go handle it.
The "Morin Kampfgruppe" headquarters camp was pitched in a depression behind a gentle slope, the tents set up compactly but orderly.
After returning with Master Haber, Morin didn't explain much. He directly found Kleist and told him to notify all assault infantry of the 1st Company, 1st Battalion to assemble immediately at the edge of the small grove to the east.
Kleist took an extra look at Master Haber in his mage robes behind Morin, asked nothing, turned around, and went to execute the order.
Soon, in the clearing by the small grove, all assault infantry of the 1st Company, 1st Battalion of the Imperial Guard Assault Instruction Unit were lined up.
Company Commander Klaus stood at the very front of the formation. After completing the alignment, he reported loudly to Morin:
"Reporting, Commander! The entire 1st Company, 1st Battalion assault infantry, totaling 152 men, has assembled!"
Standing in front of the formation, Morin swept his gaze over these familiar faces. His heart churned for several seconds before he spoke.
"I'll be direct—there's a project that requires 30 of you to be selected to participate."
"This project is very dangerous. The survival rate is about... thirty percent."
A brief commotion rippled through the ranks.
"This project is too dangerous, so it is entirely voluntary. Anyone who doesn't want to participate can turn around and return to the camp right now... I guarantee no one will pursue the matter, nor will it affect your evaluation records."
Morin made himself very clear.
The formation quieted down.
One second.
Ten seconds.
Twenty seconds.
Not a single person moved. The 152 men seemed rooted to the ground.
Morin waited a few more seconds, then asked with a half-grin:
"Are you sure no one wants to back out? You're willing to accept a thirty percent chance of survival? Don't regret it later..."
A few muffled chuckles emerged from the ranks, and then the laughter spread as if contagious, until the entire formation was stifling laughter.
Seeing this, Klaus, who had the closest relationship with Morin, couldn't help but explain:
"Commander, having followed you through so many campaigns, we feel our chances of survival were about that number anyway, and didn't most of us come back alive in the end?"
Boom—the formation erupted into roars of laughter.
Morin couldn't hold it in either, chuckling along.
But Master Haber, standing behind him, couldn't quite smile at this moment.
The face of this 4th-circle mage, wrapped in his hood, revealed a complex expression.
He looked at these instruction unit soldiers; upon hearing there was only a thirty percent survival rate, no one flinched, no one hesitated.
Not because they weren't afraid to die, but because the man standing in front of them said they were going.
This level of loyalty... had reached a point that sent shivers down his spine.
At the very least, he had never seen an officer in the Imperial Army hold such a high position in the hearts of his subordinate soldiers.
An uncontrollable thought flashed through Master Haber's mind—is having such power concentrated in the hands of one person a good thing or a bad thing for the Empire?
He quickly suppressed this idea, but the lingering taste of that thought circled in his mind several times.
In front, Morin didn't know the mage behind him had already "opened his mind wide." He simply turned to Klaus.
"Since that's the case, select 30 men to stay based on daily training scores and combat performance. Take the rest back."
Klaus's screening process was crisp and efficient.
In less than ten minutes, only 30 men remained in the clearing, including Klaus himself.
The eliminated 1st Company veterans followed the Company Sergeant Major back with faces full of regret; many looked back every few steps.
The Company Sergeant Major stopped after a few steps and looked toward Klaus.
"Company Commander, I—"
"You lead the troops," Klaus interrupted him cleanly. "The troops cannot be without a military commander."
The Company Sergeant Major sighed regretfully, ultimately said nothing, and turned to lead the remaining men away.
Morin signaled Master Haber to step forward and confirm the candidates. The latter stepped out from his hood, circled the 30 men, and sized them up and down using some unknown method.
"No problem." Master Haber nodded to Morin. "If possible, I'll take them with me today."
That afternoon, at the Army Group headquarters train station.
Master Haber and the 30 selected instruction unit soldiers boarded a military train headed straight for Dresden.
Morin stood on the platform, looking at those familiar faces in the train car.
Klaus and other soldiers poked half their heads out the windows, waving at Morin.
"Commander, wait for our return."
Morin smiled, waved back, and joked:
"Yeah, I won't wait for you guys. Looks like you bunch won't get a share of the upcoming military merits~"
The train's engine blew its whistle, and the wheels began to turn slowly. Morin stood on the platform for quite a while, until the train completely disappeared at the end of the tracks.
To say he wasn't worried at all would be a lie.
These 30 men were the top tier among the instruction unit's assault infantry; pulling any one of them out would make them a "king of soldiers" in other units. They were also the first batch of soldiers he commanded after transmigrating.
Now, they were all sent into an experimental project with only a thirty percent chance of survival.
But Morin also knew that if they could come back alive, they would possess a completely different level of combat capability.
"They're my soldiers, after all; hopefully, this 'modification serum' has some sort of 'recognizing the master' function..."
He sighed, turned, and walked toward the Army Group headquarters.
The Crown Prince was already waiting for him.
Inside the main tent, Crown Prince Georg and Major General Knobelsdorff were talking over the sandbox. Seeing Morin lift the flap and enter, both looked up simultaneously.
"Sent them off?"
"Sent them off."
Morin came to a stop opposite the sandbox, took a deep breath to shake off his emotions, and rapidly switched himself back into a combat state.
Georg didn't dwell on the topic, cutting straight to the chase.
"Lord Friedrich, regarding the upcoming surprise attack—how many troops does your Kampfgruppe need to be reinforced with?"
Morin had actually repeatedly calculated this question on his way back.
To be honest, facing such a generous superior, he really wanted to cosplay a "military immortal" and coolly say, "The more, the better." But he wasn't Han Xin.
And even with system assistance, Morin had a clear understanding of his own command capabilities.
Commanding large army groups isn't something you can clear just by turning on a hack. Just arranging the marching order, camp deployment, and supply distribution for tens of thousands of people—these maddeningly trivial tasks are enough to cause an inexperienced commander to die on the spot.
Officers and soldiers capable of executing orders with 100% precision only exist in strategy games.
In reality, the more people you command, the greater the probability of unexpected situations arising. Morin didn't want to cause a rout at this time because of a desire for grandeur.
"Your Highness, reinforce us with the strength of two more infantry regiments. Additionally, it would be best to attach some artillery, and ammunition needs to be fully resupplied."
"Besides that, the more units coordinating with the Kampfgruppe's operations, the better..."
"No problem."
Crown Prince Georg didn't hesitate, directly agreeing to Morin's request, while his estimation of him rose again internally.
This was the kind of general he needed...
Major General Knobelsdorff pushed up his glasses nearby, already beginning to record in his notebook.
The Crown Prince immediately added: "Lord Friedrich, go back and pull the Kampfgruppe out of its current positions and move to the rear to assemble... The Chief of Staff here will coordinate the subsequent railway transport matters."
Morin saluted and prepared to turn and exit the tent.
"Right—" Georg suddenly stopped him. "Lord Friedrich, have you always preferred picking your own troops?"
Morin was taken aback for a moment, then spoke the truth.
"Your Highness, rather than saying I prefer picking troops, it's more accurate to say I need to ensure the troops allocated to me will completely obey my orders, so there are no problems in the chain of command."
Resting his hands on the sandbox, Georg smiled and nodded.
"I understand. Go back and rest first."
After Morin left, only the Crown Prince and the Chief of Staff remained in the tent.
Major General Knobelsdorff closed his notebook, glanced at Georg, hesitated for two seconds, and finally spoke.
"Your Highness, there is a plan I'd like to propose."
"Speak."
"The 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division has a training style similar to the instruction unit. If we attach the entire division to Colonel Morin..."
"Then who is the commander? Lord Friedrich, or the commander of the 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division, Major General Karl Paul?"
Georg took over the sentence before the Chief of Staff could finish. Major General Knobelsdorff realized something and didn't continue.
Major General Karl Paul, commander of the 4th Guard Reserve Infantry Division, held a higher rank than Morin, had deeper seniority in the army, and was more than a full cycle (12 years) older.
Even if the Army Group headquarters explicitly ordered Major General Paul to obey the command of Colonel Morin, while it might be executable on paper, no one knew if the former would harbor any resentments.
Not to mention, Morin had previously been an officer under Major General Paul.
No matter how good their relationship was now, Crown Prince Georg wouldn't dare take that risk.
"Chief of Staff, only by allowing Morin complete control over his subordinate troops can maximum combat effectiveness be brought to bear."
Georg paused, tapping his finger twice on the edge of the sandbox.
"Since we can't pin a general's star on him in the short term, we'll continue using the method of drawing subordinate units to form a 'Kampfgruppe.' Allocate regimental-level units whose commanders are lower in rank or equal to him, and there will be no problems in the chain of command."
"The terrain over there is already unsuitable for large-scale troop marches. I will attach more support units to Lord Friedrich. As long as he can open a path, the follow-up supporting forces will be easy to manage..."
Major General Knobelsdorff pondered for a moment.
"Your Highness has considered this more thoroughly than I."
"It's not called considering thoroughly," Georg leaned back in his chair, his voice slightly deeper. "It's called reality."
He stared at the small flag representing the instruction unit on the sandbox, quiet for several seconds.
"Lord Friedrich is a rare military talent in the Empire, but his seniority and age... are walls blocking his path."
"I am merely the Crown Prince of the Empire. What I can do is help pave the road as smoothly as possible for him, but he has to tear down those walls one by one himself."
At this point, Crown Prince Georg couldn't help but sigh, complaining to his Chief of Staff:
"This guy Friedrich, he's good at everything... he's just a bit too low-key and cautious, and he doesn't like showing his abilities to others. It always feels like he's deliberately hiding something."
"Indeed..." The Chief of Staff nodded noncommittally.
Gallic Republic, Sedan.
On the land of Gaul, thousands of miles away from the smoke of the Balkan Peninsula, another war without guns and cannons was taking place.
For the Gallic Republic, the name Sedan itself was a curse.
During the Saxon-Gallic War of 1870, Napoleon III was captured here, and the French Second Empire came crashing down.
And this time, the Saxon Empire's diplomats specifically chose Sedan as the location for armistice negotiations and the final signing of the agreement.
The intent was self-evident... The Gallic Republic's two attempts to challenge the Saxon Empire both ended in disastrous defeat at Sedan.
Evening, May 5, 1915.
In a conference room on the second floor of the Sedan City Hall, the Gallic Republic's negotiating delegation submitted their revised treaty text for the third time.
Sitting across the long table, Saxon Imperial State Secretary for Foreign Affairs Gottlieb von Jagow opened the document and spent about fifteen minutes reading the entire text from beginning to end.
The chief representative of the Gallic delegation sat opposite, the exhaustion on his face unconcealable. This diplomat, known for his elegance in Gallic political circles, appeared somewhat haggard at this moment.
"Mr. State Secretary."
The Gallic representative finally couldn't hold back and broke the silence first.
"We have already agreed to the vast majority of conditions proposed by your side, including the permanent cession of Alsace-Lorraine, the demilitarization of the six eastern provinces, massive war reparations, and future tariff concessions..."
He leaned forward.
"No matter what, this treaty must be signed within these next two days. Bordeaux can wait no longer."
Saxon Imperial State Secretary for Foreign Affairs Gottlieb closed the document, no superfluous emotional changes on his face.
This diplomatic veteran in his early fifties had been in Sedan for quite a long time.
According to the joint instructions from the Imperial Foreign Ministry and the General Staff, his task was to stall for time at the negotiating table as much as possible... not to wrest more clauses, but to leave a window for military operations in the Balkans.
But the Gauls' patience had reached its limit.
The political situation in Bordeaux was deteriorating at a visible rate. Domestic public opinion pressure, economic collapse, and the national sentiment brought about by lost territories were all forcing the Gallic government to sign this treaty as soon as possible and exit this war...
Gottlieb knew very well that the cards had been played out.
Dragging it on further would not only be meaningless, but might arouse unnecessary vigilance from the Gallic side.
Finally, Gottlieb unhurriedly set down the document and spoke:
"I understand your country's urgent need for an armistice. The Empire deeply appreciates the sincerity shown by your country."
He glanced at his deputy beside him.
"Given that both sides have basically reached a consensus on the core clauses, the Imperial delegation agrees to officially sign the armistice agreement tomorrow."
The Gallic chief representative's body visibly relaxed. Since the Gallic Republic army announced a ceasefire, his shoulders, which had been tense for months, finally slumped half an inch, and he exhaled a long breath.
"Thank you for your understanding, Your Excellency."
After the two sides briefly confirmed a few detailed clauses, the Gallic delegation finally rose to take their leave.
Only when the Gauls' footsteps completely disappeared in the hallway did the mask of composure on Gottlieb's face come off.
He turned to look at his deputy, his speaking pace suddenly accelerating.
"Send an urgent telegram to Dresden, encrypted line."
The deputy had already pulled telegram paper and a pen from his briefcase.
Gottlieb stood up, walked to the window, and looked through the glass at the Gallic representatives jogging to their cars in the square of the Sedan City Hall.
"Tell Dresden, change of plans. We can no longer delay."
The deputy's pen flew across the paper. After finishing, he looked up at Gottlieb.
"Sir, do you need to add anything else?"
"No need. Dresden will understand."
The deputy walked quickly out of the room.
Gottlieb sat back in his chair, pulled a cigar from a small tin box in his suit's inner pocket, but didn't light it, merely placing it under his nose to sniff.
Starting tomorrow, once the agreement was signed, the Gallic Republic would officially exit the war.
This meant the hundreds of thousands of Saxon Imperial troops pinned down in the direction of Gaul would gradually be freed up.
But it also meant that the Britannians would definitely begin operations in the Mediterranean and the Balkan Peninsula...
Dresden, Imperial General Staff.
At 3:00 AM on May 6th, the urgent telegram from Sedan was delivered to the desk of the duty lieutenant colonel.
After reading the telegram's content, the lieutenant colonel didn't hesitate this time. He ran directly to wake the Chief of the General Staff.
Fifteen minutes later, Chief of the Imperial Army General Staff Helmuth Ludwig von Moltke walked into his office.
He took the telegram from the lieutenant colonel, glanced at it, and slowly sat down in his chair.
"Can no longer delay..."
Moltke the Younger placed the telegram paper on the desk, silent for about half a minute.
Then he raised his head and said one sentence to the lieutenant colonel standing before him.
"Notify relevant personnel for an emergency meeting in one hour... Also, send someone to invite the Navy and Air Force people over. We don't have much time left."