When the room fell silent again, Graham walked over to the wall.
As he approached, the wall of the room gradually became transparent, eventually disappearing completely.
He gazed out over the Palace of Westminster across the Thames, recalling the brief conversation he had just had.
Although the surviving Mage’s words were incoherent, the information they revealed caused a slight unease within him.
The Saxons… they seemed to have truly achieved some kind of progress he was unaware of.
Otherwise, it would have been impossible for them to inflict such heavy losses on the High-Level Mage Corps and the Guard Knight Order in Seville.
After contemplating for a moment, he turned and left the room, ascending to the Council Hall on the highest floor of the Mage Tower.
The space inside this hall was noticeably much larger than it appeared from the outside. Above the dome, which resembled the interior of a magnificent palace, stretched a ceiling of perpetual night sky.
Graham briefly explained the situation to the other five Archmages of the Council.
He personally felt that the surviving Mage might indeed be suffering from some mental breakdown, and his testimony could contain exaggerations and distortions.
But at the same time, he also voiced his concern—that the Saxons might genuinely have mastered something new.
“I think we might need to re-evaluate the Saxons—specifically their spellcasters.”
“Are you suggesting we send someone over?”
A voice came from the shadow of the main seat.
Graham: “Chairman, confined within the tower, we can never truly uncover the truth.”
“I understand. I will arrange this matter.”
Below the walls of Madrid, following the release of the tripartite joint communiqué, the Saxon Expeditionary Force’s attack on Madrid was officially called off.
Although the proposed ‘joint development’ was still subject to endless wrangling before it could be implemented, especially for a project like brilliant crystal mining, which required massive investment.
Morin and the other officers in the ‘Political Discussion Group’ basically came to a conclusion:
In the short term, unless one side suddenly went rogue and launched a ‘backstab,’ fighting between the two sides was unlikely.
However, the ongoing mess in the Kingdom of Aragon no longer concerned Morin and his unit.
Because the 16th Brigade, which had served the longest in the Aragonese campaign, and several other units that had suffered heavy losses in the early battles, gradually received orders to return to the homeland for rest and reorganization.
The 32nd Zwickau Infantry Regiment, where Morin was stationed, was also included in the first batch of units to be withdrawn.
The troops broke camp once more, but this time, they marched toward the railway station in the rear.
The march itself was uneventful, but the soldiers’ mood was noticeably lighter than when they first set out for the battlefield.
Joy and anticipation, which they could barely suppress, were visible on the faces of many.
Regardless of the political games the high-ranking officials played at the negotiating table, for these grassroots soldiers who had rolled through the thick of battle… being able to stop fighting and return home alive was the greatest blessing.
“Company Commander, how long of a leave do you think we’ll get this time?”
A newly supplemented soldier, emboldened by excitement, asked Morin, who was walking along the side of the column.
“What? Homesick?”
Morin was also in a good mood, so he didn’t dwell on the breach of discipline but smiled and patted his shoulder.
“My fiancée is waiting for me back home,” the soldier scratched his head shyly.
The surrounding soldiers immediately burst into laughter.
“Oh la la, engaged so young?”
“Company Commander, don’t listen to his bragging!”
A comrade who had been supplemented at the same time immediately began to expose the soldier’s secrets—an unmissable ‘traditional activity’ in the military.
“He hasn’t even held a girl’s hand!”
“Hahaha.”
A cheerful atmosphere spread through the column.
These soldiers, who had just climbed out of hell, finally shed the heavy burden on their hearts upon hearing the news of returning home, regaining the vitality expected of young men.
Morin watched them, feeling his own mood brighten, and he relaxed considerably.
Moreover, being able to leave the battlefield and return home had been his greatest wish since arriving in this world…
After returning to Saxon territory via military train and transferring to a regular passenger train, the 32nd Infantry Regiment embarked on the final leg of their journey back to their garrison in Zwickau.
Before the train even reached the station, Morin and the others could see crowds waving flowers and the Black Eagle banner lining the railway tracks outside the window.
Clearly, besides the ‘victory’ in diplomacy.
The Saxon authorities had successfully conducted a round of propaganda domestically regarding the Aragonese campaign.
In the eyes of the public, these returning soldiers had become heroes of the Empire.
So, when the train slowly came to a stop at the platform and the companies organized the soldiers to disembark and assemble in the square outside the station.
The square was packed with a dense crowd, mostly the families of the soldiers.
“Dad!”
“Hans! I’m here!”
“My son! You’re finally back!”
The square outside the station completely erupted. If the military police and local police who arrived early hadn’t maintained order, Morin figured he would have quickly lost track of his company.
The soldiers could no longer suppress their inner excitement. They only wanted to rush to their families and embrace them tightly.
In this moment, the cruelty and bloodiness of war seemed to have been completely cast aside.
Unfortunately, Morin had already received orders from the Battalion Headquarters.
Although the soldiers of the 32nd Infantry Regiment would indeed receive a long period of leave.
Before being dismissed, they had to return to the garrison first—to hand over all weapons and personal gear and change into clean service uniforms.
At this point, the homesickness of these soldiers, who had endured repeated battles, had reached its limit.
Many looked pleadingly at their officers, hoping to go home sooner.
But Morin, Company Sergeant Major Klaus, and the Platoon Leaders strictly enforced the orders, restraining the troops and beginning the march toward the garrison.
However, they underestimated the enthusiasm of the families.
Without any organization, the families followed the troops’ column on both sides of the road, holding flowers and various homemade small flags.
They continuously called out the names of their relatives, and their voices gradually blended into a massive chorus of traditional Saxon folk songs…
The Saxon Empire employed a system similar to ‘local recruitment,’ so most soldiers of the 32nd Infantry Regiment were, in fact, local residents.
So, besides the families, most of the citizens of Zwickau spontaneously lined the streets leading to the 32nd Infantry Regiment garrison, offering the returning soldiers the most enthusiastic reverence and cheers.
“Long live the Empire!”
“Welcome home, heroes!”
Some young girls were even bolder, blowing kisses and exchanging flirtatious glances with the soldiers in the column.
This made Morin turn to Klaus beside him and sigh: “Look, Klaus, this is the scene of youthful vitality. You don’t see any of this on the battlefield.”
Klaus, watching the young soldiers exchanging glances with the girls, smiled as well: “Yes, Company Commander. If I were twenty years younger, I’d probably be doing the same.”
Enveloped by flowers and cheers all along the way, the troops finally returned to the familiar garrison.
The first thing Morin did upon entering the barracks was to immediately order the entire company to hand over their weapons, equipment, and all gear.
At the warehouse entrance, quartermasters were frantically busy. Piece after piece of equipment covered in gunpowder smoke and dust was counted and stored. The garrison logistics personnel would later uniformly wash the uniforms.
Of course, this service was only available during long leaves.
In most cases, Saxon soldiers had to wash their own uniforms—or rather, they had no time to wash them on the battlefield.
“Everyone, count carefully! Not a single bullet is to leave the barracks!”
Although the entire company had already handed over their live ammunition before boarding the train, Klaus shouted this loudly nearby, unable to hide his smile.
Morin looked at the lively scene and felt relieved.
He walked over to the logistics officer and specifically instructed: “Turn on the hot water in the boiler room. Let the men take a good, hot bath and clean themselves up before going home.”
However, some soldiers were already impatient, wanting to rush out of the barracks immediately after handing over their gear.
Morin saw them and shouted with a smile:
“What’s the rush, you scoundrels? You all stink like cured meat! Are you planning to smoke your families out at home?”
“And those anxious ones! Don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinking! Be careful your wives won’t let you in bed tonight!”
Everyone burst into laughter and quickly rushed toward the bathhouse.
This was perhaps the fastest bath these soldiers had ever taken. Not a single person was chatting or joking in the bathhouse as they usually did.
After washing up and changing into their clean service uniforms, the soldiers began to leave the barracks in twos and threes.
Morin, who had also washed and changed into his First Lieutenant’s service uniform, stood at the entrance, smiling and greeting every soldier who left.
“You all go home and spend quality time with your families! Don’t just think about drinking!”
“And remember to report back on time when your leave is over! Don’t make me bring the military police to your homes to drag you back!”
“Don’t worry, Company Commander!”
“See you, Lieutenant!”
The soldiers responded playfully, the atmosphere light and pleasant.
However, as the number of soldiers in the barracks dwindled, the previously bustling garrison gradually became empty and quiet.
The smile on Morin’s face slowly faded.
When the logistics soldiers from the quartermaster and field kitchen, carrying large bags and bundles, also rushed out the gate excitedly.
The entire barracks, apart from a few logistics personnel handling routine maintenance and the temporary sentries assigned from the reserve battalion, was left with only Morin and Company Sergeant Major Klaus.
“Klaus, you should head home too. Your family must be worried sick.”
Morin said to the Company Sergeant Major who had stayed by his side.
Klaus opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to say something, but seeing the slightly lonely expression on Morin’s face, he ultimately swallowed his words.
“I’ll be going then, Company Commander. You should also go home and rest early.”
Klaus saluted Morin solemnly, then turned and left the barracks.
Watching Klaus’s retreating back, Morin stood alone at the empty barracks entrance. An unprecedented feeling of loneliness washed over him like a tide.
He suddenly felt that this cold barracks and training ground might be his only home in this world?
After all, the places outside the battlefield and the barracks were still somewhat unfamiliar to him.
So, all he had to do was wait here until the leave was over, and his soldiers would return.
The noise, the training shouts, the terrible field kitchen coffee… everything would return to normal.
He would regain his most intimate connection to this world.
“F**k, wait… Did I get PTSD after that battle?”
Just as Morin was worrying that he might not be able to return to normal life, he noticed that as the crowds outside the barracks gradually dispersed, a black carriage was still quietly parked nearby, not moving.
“Could that carriage be here to pick me up?”
A guess flashed through Morin’s mind. After all, everyone who needed to leave the 1st Company’s barracks was already gone.
At that moment, an elderly man dressed in fine clothes and appearing to be a butler approached the barracks gate, but was stopped by the sentries.
When Morin walked up in confusion, the butler bowed deeply to him and spoke in a respectful tone:
“Young Master Morin, Madam von Falkenstein is waiting for you in the carriage.”
Morin was momentarily stunned.
Then, as a rush of memories surged into his mind, he realized that the ‘Madam von Falkenstein’ the butler spoke of…
Was the mysterious ‘noblewoman’—Cecilia von Falkenstein.
A woman only thirty-five years old, the head of the Empire’s largest brilliant crystal supplier and refining enterprise, ‘Falkenstein-Eisenstein Joint Industries,’ and a tremendously wealthy… widow.
In the memories, she was a close friend of his mother, like a sister to her.
And after Morin’s parents passed away when he was young, she had always supported—or rather, looked after him, acting as a kind of older sister figure.
Morin paused for a moment, gathered his luggage, and walked to the carriage. After a moment of hesitation, he stepped inside.
The carriage interior was dimly lit, carrying the scent of leather mixed with a cold vetiver fragrance.
A streak of pale winter light filtered through the window, outlining the elegant silhouette of the noblewoman.
The first thing Morin saw was her eyes—a unique, cold grayish-blue.
He could sense that when those eyes looked at him, a subtle, burning emotion, like light beneath a layer of ice, was revealed, but it vanished instantly.
Her voluminous, honey-and-platinum-mixed hair was meticulously styled into a complex and elegant chignon at the back of her head.
The woman wore a well-tailored white dress. When she saw him, a slight smile curved her lips.
“Fritz, you’re finally back.”
Her voice was soft and pleasant, instantly putting Morin at ease.
“Cecilia… Madam.”
Morin was momentarily unsure how to address her.
In the memories that rushed into his mind, he had always affectionately called her ‘Big Sister Cecilia,’ but the title felt too familiar and abrupt now.
Cecilia seemed to notice his awkwardness and chuckled softly.
“What’s the matter? After going to the battlefield and winning, have you become estranged?”
(End of this Chapter)