Four o’clock in the morning.
In the giant tent of the First Army Group’s temporary command post on the eastern outskirts of Paris, the lights were still blazing.
The two supreme commanders, General Mackensen and Lieutenant General Seeckt, who held the fate of the entire army group in their hands, were staring at the huge sand table map before them, their eyes bloodshot.
Although both were physically and mentally exhausted, the current battle situation made it impossible for them to sleep.
Accompanying the two generals through the night was a special temporary advisor—Archbishop Maurice of the Archdiocese of Paris.
This old man, also over sixty, had shed his heavy armor after evacuating the city with the Instruction Assault Battalion, wearing only a bishop’s vestment.
He continuously offered suggestions to the two Saxon generals, leveraging his familiarity with Parisian terrain and his understanding of undead creatures’ characteristics.
This “middle-aged iron triangle,” whose combined age was nearly one hundred and eighty, now had fever blisters at the corners of their mouths from staying up all night.
The adjutants and several senior staff officers outside the tent looked at the state of the three Big Boss inside, their hearts in turmoil, fearing that at this critical juncture, these three might fall ill.
“Sigh…”
General Mackensen let out a long sigh, rubbing his throbbing temples, his voice filled with weariness.
“If I could, I would order the First Army Group to withdraw completely from Paris right now… We are Saxon soldiers, not the Holy Army of the Papal States; there’s no need to fight to the death with an endless horde of skeletons here.”
His words revealed a deep sense of powerlessness.
From the beginning of the war until now, he had commanded many fierce battles and faced the most elite enemies, but he had never felt so stifled as he did now.
Lieutenant General Seeckt pushed up the monocle on his nose, his gaze behind the lens equally dim and uncertain.
“General, I understand your feelings, but we cannot retreat.”
He said in a deep voice, “Paris is not only the capital of Gaul; it is also the most important transportation hub in all of northern Gaul. You know very well that almost all major railway lines within Gaul converge here.”
He drew a circle on the map with his command stick, firmly enclosing Paris.
“Whether we need to transport supplies and reinforcements from home, or attack the Britannian Expeditionary Force to the north, or launch a general offensive against the main Gaulish forces to the south…”
“Paris will be our most crucial assembly point for troops and supplies… Abandoning this place would mean abandoning all our previous achievements and might even put us in a passive position.”
“General Seeckt is right.”
Archbishop Maurice, who was standing by, also spoke, his voice hoarse from staying up all night: “Even if we don’t consider it from a military perspective, just from a political and public opinion standpoint, the First Army Group fighting to the death against the undead in Paris would absolutely be more beneficial than detrimental to the Saxon Empire.”
General Mackensen looked up at the clergyman, signaling him to continue.
“As General Seeckt just said, the city’s current location is very important… But from another perspective, what would happen if we just withdrew and allowed the Necromancer in the city to continue wreaking havoc?”
Maurice’s eyes sharpened.
“The negative energy and necromancy within the city would continuously strengthen, and eventually, the city and the vast surrounding areas would completely turn into a cursed wasteland.”
“At that time, this place will become a forbidden zone for all living beings, and this evil power will spread like a plague, constantly expanding and growing stronger.”
He looked at Mackensen and Seeckt, saying word by word, “I believe the Saxon Empire wouldn’t want such a dangerous, utterly detrimental undead kingdom to appear out of thin air in the heartland of Gaul, would it?”
Mackensen and Seeckt exchanged glances, both seeing a hint of helplessness in the other’s eyes.
Yes, they understood the reasoning.
The current situation was like discovering a giant hornet’s nest.
They had already poked it and fought it; now it was too late to back out.
They had to clean up this mess, whether they wanted to or not.
“Sigh…” Mackensen sighed again. “Given how things have turned out, retreating is definitely not an option. So, we fight.”
Just as the three were about to continue discussing the specific next steps, an indescribably powerful magical fluctuation suddenly erupted from the Eiffel Tower as its center!
That fluctuation, like an invisible shockwave, instantly swept across the entire city, even affecting the command post outside the city.
“Hm?!”
Mackensen and Seeckt, these two “Muggles” completely ignorant of magic, both felt a strange tremor, as if an invisible great bell had rung in their ears, buzzing and making their heads feel somewhat dazed.
Immediately after, an aura of decay, more than ten times denser than before, slowly appeared in the air, making all three of them frown.
This sensation was particularly pronounced on the defensive lines on the outskirts of Paris.
Kleist and Manstein, who were commanding the battle on the front lines, as well as all the Saxon soldiers and clergy fighting valiantly, felt as if they had suddenly been thrown into the depths of an ancient tomb sealed for a thousand years.
That cold, decaying aura almost permeated their bones.
“This is bad!”
Auxiliary Bishop Troyes, who had just knocked down a ghoul with his heavy crozier, instantly turned pale. He suddenly looked up towards the direction of central Paris, his eyes filled with terror.
“The negative energy in the city… the intensity of the necromancy has increased! And significantly!”
Kleist, beside him, also felt that something was wrong. The undead, already difficult to deal with, now seemed to be on steroids, their actions becoming even more frenzied, and their momentum in assaulting the positions sharply increased.
Inside the command tent, Archbishop Maurice’s expression also became unprecedentedly solemn.
“Your Excellency General, that ‘what if’ I just mentioned… I’m afraid it has already happened.” His voice was incredibly dry. “The Gaulish Mages in the Tower, their power has grown stronger.”
After he finished speaking, he noticed Mackensen and Seeckt staring at him with extremely strange looks.
That look was like they were seeing a living jinx.
“Ahem…”
Maurice’s face stiffened, and he ignored the awkwardness, hastily saying, “Generals, this is not the time to dwell on this! We must immediately find a way to destroy the Eiffel Tower! Otherwise, the situation will become increasingly serious! No one knows what else the madman inside the Tower will do next!”
Mackensen took a deep breath; he knew Maurice was right.
They couldn’t wait any longer!
He slammed his hand on the table and roared at the outside of the tent, “Orderly!”
An orderly immediately rushed in.
“Go to the ‘Odin’ immediately! Tell Colonel Lucas to prepare for an attack! At first light, spare no effort to flatten that damn tower!”
“Yes!” The orderly acknowledged the order and ran out.
After the order was given, Archbishop Maurice also couldn’t sit still.
“Your Excellency General, I request to lead a squad of armed priests to sortie with the ‘Odin’!” he said solemnly. “They need the Lord’s protection against such powerful evil forces!”
Mackensen glanced at him and nodded: “Take care, Your Excellency Archbishop, we’re counting on you.”
Eiffel Tower, Second Floor Main Control Hall.
Chardonnet felt the even vaster, more defiled power flowing through the Tower, and he let out a comfortable groan, as if he were floating on clouds.
He had succeeded.
He had successfully corrupted the souls of the Mages sleeping within the Tower.
These souls were powerful spellcasters in life, who had dedicated themselves to the Tower, intending to become eternal sentinels guarding Gaul.
Their wills were pure and firm, filled with love for their homeland and hatred for their enemies.
Under normal circumstances, Chardonnet would have been unable to shake them in the slightest.
But now, the situation was different.
Chardonnet himself, through the spells [Animate Dead] and [Create Undead], had drawn an immense amount of pure negative energy from the Paris Catacombs and countless corpses within the city.
This negative energy was the most deadly poison for the souls of Mages who had lost their physical bodies and were merely pure spiritual entities.
Chardonnet was like a cunning poisoner; he didn’t directly attack those souls.
Instead, he skillfully injected this massive negative energy into the entire magic circulation of the Tower.
Thus, these heroic spirits guarding Paris, without their knowledge, were silently corroded and transformed by this vile power every time they interacted with the Tower’s energy.
Their wills began to become chaotic, their memories blurred, and their once pure guardian obsession gradually twisted into hatred and tyranny towards all living beings.
“Do you feel it? My old friends…”
Chardonnet spread his arms, a pathological fanaticism on his face.
“This is what true power looks like! This is eternity!”
He could clearly feel his control over the entire Tower increasing at an astonishing rate.
Originally, he could only “borrow” a portion of the Tower’s power, and he was constantly constrained by Master Eiffel’s will.
But now, as those corrupted souls began to side with him, he felt himself slowly transforming from a “tenant” to the true “master” of this colossal Tower.
“Eiffel… you stubborn old man, do you see it?”
Chardonnet’s consciousness roared through the magical network.
“You think you can protect Paris? No! You will only become a stepping stone beneath my feet, along with this city! The first sacrifice on my path of bones!”
He wanted to turn all of Paris into a true city of death.
Six million skeletons and a large number of fresh corpses would become his most loyal servants.
This beautiful vision of the future made his ambition and desire surge like a broken dam, no longer suppressible.
He poured more mental energy into corrupting those souls, greedily absorbing every trace of dark power, filled with resentment and hatred, that transformed from them.
He even temporarily ignored the movements of the Saxon soldiers outside the city.
In his view, those mortal armies were merely a group of slightly stronger ants.
Once he completely controlled the Eiffel Tower, a single thought would be enough to annihilate them.
The immediate priority was to complete the usurpation of the Tower as quickly as possible.
He could feel that Master Eiffel had already detected his conspiracy and was desperately mobilizing his remaining will to resist his erosion.
This last guardian of Paris was like a hard reef, standing firm no matter how the black tide unleashed by Chardonnet crashed against it.
But Chardonnet was not in a hurry, for he knew that time was on his side.
Although Master Eiffel’s will was tenacious, he was, after all, just one person.
Chardonnet, however, had countless corrupted souls as his backing.
With one rising and the other falling, the scales of victory were slowly tilting in his favor.
“Struggle… wail… the more you resist, the more excited I become!”
Chardonnet let out a joyful chuckle.
“Soon you will understand that resistance is futile; everything you are will become my nourishment!”
At the temporary camp of the ‘Odin’.
Morin and Lucas had just finished their steaming hot coffee—the 1st Company and the field kitchen on the train had urgently brewed a batch of high-concentration coffee and distributed it to everyone.
But just then, the two saw several mounted orderlies and a Radiant Crystal Vehicle filled with armed clergy almost simultaneously rush into the camp.
“Colonel Lucas, Captain Morin! Command orders the ‘Odin’ to immediately sortie and enter attack formation before dawn!”
Morin and Lucas exchanged glances, both seeing a hint of determination in the other’s eyes.
The soldiers immediately sprang into action, the warriors of the Instruction Assault Battalion’s 1st Company quickly boarding the troop transport carriages, checking their weapons and ammunition.
Magitech Engineers and engineers also performed a final check of all equipment before heading to their respective workstations.
Morin quickly walked to the truck, where Archbishop Maurice had already disembarked with his armed priests and was forming them into ranks.
These clergy were all clad in heavy armor, wielding croziers and flails, their faces bearing solemn and resolute expressions, like Crusader Knights of old about to embark on a holy war.
“Your Excellency Archbishop.” Morin walked up to Maurice.
“Captain Morin.”
Maurice looked at the young Captain and nodded kindly.
“These undead are the Lord’s enemies, and ours as well. I hope to offer some assistance to your attack.”
“Thank you very much for your support.”
Morin said sincerely; after fighting side-by-side during the day, he knew well that this group of seemingly stereotypical “holy men” were actually truly devout believers.
And when it came to dealing with the undead, they were absolute experts.
“Please have your ‘battle-brothers’ board the train as well; there’s still space in the troop transport carriages.” Morin pointed to the rear carriages of the ‘Odin’.
“I didn’t expect the Captain to also know the term ‘battle-brothers’…”
Maurice smiled and then waved a hand to his subordinates.
The armed priests immediately shouldered their “croziers” and boarded the Armored Train with neat, heavy steps.