The coup forces’ charge ended in a disastrous defeat once again.
Behind a barricade in the distance, the adjutant of the 35th Bohemian Infantry Regiment looked at this tragic scene and punched the ground hard several times.
The hard bricks and stones scraped his knuckles bloody, but he felt no pain whatsoever.
His face was contorted with extreme anger and despair, making him look like a wounded beast.
Because this regimental adjutant knew that the effective strength under his command was almost depleted.
The defense line opposite them was insurmountable.
Those Saxons who popped out of nowhere possessed firepower so strong it was simply unreasonable.
And at this most critical juncture, those Britannians who had solemnly sworn to provide “full support,” along with their high-performance Armored Knights, had all vanished without a trace.
After Masaryk learned the news, he personally led people to several previously used contact points, only to find them empty. It was as if the other party had never existed.
Under these circumstances, those deputies in the Imperial Parliament Building also began planning to retreat first while the coup forces were still holding the front.
“Liars! A bunch of treacherous liars!”
The regimental adjutant let out a beast-like roar, his voice filled with regret and unwillingness.
He transferred all the anger in his heart onto those Czech deputies, believing he had been bewitched by them to participate in this operation, ruining his entire life.
The coup forces, from top to bottom, became somewhat wavering, but what they didn’t know was that the opposing Saxon instruction unit was actually facing another problem.
Their ammunition was running low.
Obviously, with a massive numerical advantage, forcing subordinate soldiers to continuously launch attacks really could greatly increase the opponent’s ammunition consumption rate.
Furthermore, Morin and the instruction unit’s regimental headquarters had traveled by military train for a long-distance transfer and were separated from the supply company, so they couldn’t carry much ammunition themselves.
When boarding the train, the soldiers basically only carried two magazines on them for emergencies.
Even after unloading at Vienna Westbahnhof and receiving ammunition, it could only sustain a small-scale skirmish.
The instruction unit, universally equipped with automatic and semi-automatic weapons, was inherently a very logistics-dependent unit. And weapons like the MP14 and MG14 were truly difficult to scrounge more ammunition for in Vienna.
So fighting up to this point, the instruction unit soldiers actually had very little ammunition left on them.
Experienced non-commissioned officers had already consciously begun ordering their squads to conserve ammunition.
The firepower density on the defense line visibly thinned out.
Led by the NCOs, the instruction unit soldiers began consciously firing short bursts, or simply stopped continuous firing, yielding more shooting opportunities to the Imperial Guards who had relatively ample ammunition.
Automatic firepower was only used to attack those fish that slipped through the net and got close to the defense line.
Both attacking and defending sides had reached a critical moment: one side’s manpower was about to be exhausted, while the other’s ammunition was about to run out.
The joys and sorrows of people are not interconnected.
Meanwhile, on the ornate Baroque exterior wall reliefs just above the side of the bedchambers.
Morin, having cast [Enhance Ability: Cat’s Grace] on himself using cat hair from his spell material pouch, gripped the protrusions of the exterior wall firmly with both hands like a gecko. His agile figure rapidly climbed upwards among the complex reliefs.
The exterior wall of Hofburg Palace was an insurmountable chasm to ordinary people, but to Morin—doubly enhanced by the Sentinel modification potion and [Cat’s Grace]—it was merely a slightly challenging climbing wall.
Just like those bouldering athletes Morin had seen in videos in his past life, his fingertips seemed to have grown suction cups.
Every exertion of force steadily grasped those minute crevices and protrusions on the reliefs.
His enhanced muscles burst with astonishing power, making his robust physique appear not at all cumbersome, but rather like an agile ape, walking on vertical walls as if on flat ground.
The wind howled past his ears, and the sounds of gunfire and explosions on the plaza in the distance seemed to fade away.
Morin’s entire mind was focused on climbing, his brain operating at high speed to instantly plan the optimal route.
He felt that with his current physical attributes, if he participated in a bouldering World Cup in the world before his transmigration, he could probably make former grandmasters withdraw in despair, right?
While these random thoughts flashed through his mind, Morin silently arrived at the left side of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the bedchambers.
At this moment, like Peter Parker, Morin hid himself in the shadows beside the windowsill, carefully poking half his head out to peek inside.
The situation inside the bedchamber was roughly as he had guessed. There were twenty-five coup soldiers and officers inside in total.
They had tied the old Emperor Franz Joseph I to an ornate chair, using him as a human meat shield. Then, everyone formed a semi-circle, aiming their muzzles firmly at the main doors of the bedchamber.
Even from outside the window, Morin could see that their faces were written full of nervousness and panic.
Right now, the attention of these soldiers was highly concentrated on the main doors.
No one would have thought that in other directions they deemed absolutely safe, the eyes of the Grim Reaper were quietly watching them.
“Sigh… still haven’t suffered the severe beatings of Rainbow Six Siege operators~”
Morin sighed inwardly, then pulled his head back and confirmed the operational plan one last time.
If there were a way to rappel, Morin would naturally use the safer method of rappelling to launch a vertical assault.
But the problem was, the instruction unit’s regimental headquarters obviously wouldn’t carry the rigging commonly used by mountain troops, and finding anchor points for ropes on the exterior wall of the bedchambers would take a lot of extra time.
Fortunately, Morin also had a robust physique.
Gripping a protrusion on the window edge with one hand, he took out a piece of tanned leather from his spell material pouch with the other hand and tossed it into the air.
Immediately after, the freed hand made a few complex gestures in mid-air at the speed of forming ninjutsu hand seals.
The leather was rapidly converted into a mass of aggregated mana in mid-air, which Morin then slapped onto his body.
A faint blue shield made of pure arcane energy, patterned with numerous hexagons, quietly emerged on the surface of his body.
Although he had absolute confidence in his skills, reapplying [Mage Armor] to himself wasn’t a bad thing.
Having done all this, Morin took a deep breath, the muscles in his arms bulging violently.
He grabbed the outer edge above the window, using it as a fulcrum. His entire body first swung outward, and then, pulled by the terrifying strength of his forearms, forcibly slung backward.
In mid-air, relying on his powerful core strength, he brought his legs together and kicked directly towards the window.
The next second, accompanied by a deafening crash, the massive floor-to-ceiling window instantly shattered into countless flying shards of glass under Morin’s violent kick!
Under the terrified and desperate gazes of everyone inside the bedchamber, Morin’s figure, wrapped in shattering glass, barged in like a deity descending from the heavens.
The instant he landed, he smoothly transitioned into an incredibly fluid roll, perfectly dissipating the impact force.
And during the process of rising from the roll, his hands reached toward his armpits like lightning, drawing the two “Red Nines” and cleanly flicking off the safeties with his thumbs.
The entire process was completed in one breath, so fast that no one in the bedchamber could react.
When he stood fully straight, the dual guns in his hands were already aimed at those still-dazed coup troops.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Without the slightest hesitation, Morin directly pulled the triggers.
In his world, time seemed to have a slow-motion button pressed at this moment.
Adrenaline spiked sharply in his body. His enhanced neural reaction speed allowed him to clearly capture the minute movements of every enemy.
Their expressions… even their eyes, played out on his retinas like a slow-motion movie.
“Super Aim, Deployed!” A certain notification sound even played out in Morin’s imagination.
The two Broomhandle Mausers in his hands, under his inhuman strength and body control, produced almost no recoil.
Every tongue of fire spewing from the muzzles represented the end of a life.
Bullets drilled precisely into the center of the foreheads of one coup soldier after another, splashing blooming blood flowers.
Panic and chaos instantly exploded among the coup forces.
The only two soldiers who managed to react tried to fire at Morin with their rifles.
But they despairingly found that the bullets fired were blocked by the [Mage Armor] on Morin’s body.
A coup officer standing on the inner side of the formation luckily dodged the first volley. Amidst the chaos, he let out a terrified scream, then abruptly turned his muzzle.
However, the revolver in his hand was not aimed at Morin, but directly at the old Emperor held hostage!
At this moment, he seemed to have suddenly come to some realization, attempting to drag this symbol of the Empire to the grave with him before dying.
But the instant he pulled the trigger…
Hum—
A layer of faint blue spell shield appeared out of thin air in front of the old Emperor.
Clink!
The bullet hit the shield solidly, but as if hitting an invisible wall, it was deflected and fell powerlessly to the ground.
The next instant, a bullet fired from the Broomhandle Mauser in Morin’s hand hit the center of the officer’s forehead, successfully preventing him from firing a second shot.
[Projected Ward]
This was the Arcane Tradition feature Morin acquired after his spellcaster level reached level 6.
This effect allowed Morin to use his reaction when any creature he could see within 30 feet of him took damage, absorbing that damage with his own existing [Arcane Ward].
Obviously, Morin’s reaction speed surpassed everyone present.
Although he didn’t have time to aim his muzzles—which were currently firing at other targets—at the officer, he could at least apply [Projected Ward] to the old Emperor the same moment the officer fired.
It could be considered a certain divine skill against assassinations.
While [Projected Ward] blocked the bullet, the dual guns in Morin’s hands didn’t stop firing.
He just stood in place and output damage. Gunfire echoed fiercely in the ornate bedchamber, gunsmoke permeated the air, and smoking brass casings danced onto the expensive carpets.
Click, click.
Two crisp sounds of slides locking back rang out. After firing their last bullets, the muzzles of the two “Red Nines” in Morin’s hands emitted curling blue smoke.
Twenty bullets, no missed shots.
On the floor of the bedchamber lay twenty corpses with bullets in the center of their foreheads.
But in the room, there were still five last coup soldiers.
Seeing this, Morin didn’t waste an action to holster his guns. He just flicked his wrists, tossing the two empty Broomhandles directly into the air.
While the pistols were still tumbling downwards in the air, his figure had already lunged like an arrow released from a bow toward those last five soldiers!
“Ah!”
One soldier finally broke free from terror, letting out a mournful howl. Thrusting the bayonet on his rifle, he lunged viciously at Morin.
Perhaps to an ordinary person, this was a heavy, powerful, and unavoidable strike from a soldier in a desperate situation.
But in Morin’s eyes, the other’s movement was as slow as a slideshow playing.
He didn’t even try to parry. Just the instant the bayonet was about to reach him, his body leaned slightly to the left by an extremely small margin, easily dodging the sharp blade.
Simultaneously, his right hand caught the body of the opponent’s rifle with the momentum, while his left elbow swung like a heavy hammer, slamming viciously into that soldier’s temple.
Thud!
A muffled thud.
That soldier didn’t even have time to scream. His eyes rolled back, and his whole person collapsed limply.
Having dispatched one, Morin didn’t pause.
He snatched the rifle from the opponent’s hands and, without even looking, delivered a vicious backhand horizontal sweep with the stock, smashing directly into the jaw of another soldier lunging from the side.
The crisp sound of cracking bone rang out. That soldier spat out a mouthful of bloody froth mixed with several broken teeth, flying backward. He crashed heavily onto the floor, twitched twice, and stopped moving.
The remaining three soldiers completely broke down, then made the most erroneous decision—they threw down their weapons, turned, and ran toward another window in the bedchamber.
They didn’t even consider surrendering to Morin…
But how could Morin, now seeing red, give them the chance?
He hurled the rifle in his hand like a javelin. The bayonet pierced precisely into the back of one soldier’s heart, the massive force directly slamming him flat onto the ground.
And he himself had already dashed behind the other two.
Modern military close-quarters combat techniques integrated from another world displayed its purest, deadliest aesthetic of violence at this moment.
No flashy moves; every strike was for subduing and eliminating the enemy with maximum efficiency.
From beginning to end, in just a few seconds, the last five enemies were all taken down.
In the entire bedchamber, besides the shivering old Emperor tied to the chair, not a single coup soldier remained standing.
Boom!
Right at this moment, the main doors of the bedchamber burst open with a massive crash.
Manstein, holding the double-barreled shotgun, kicked the doors open and was the first to rush in, the muzzle still smoking blue from just having blown away the door lock.
Behind him, a squad of fully armed instruction unit soldiers surged in like a tide holding their submachine guns, ready to meet a “fierce battle.”
However, what they saw was a scene many of them would repeatedly brag about to their grandchildren in their later years: Morin standing in the very center of the room, surrounded by the corpses and unconscious prisoners of the coup forces.
And the two Broomhandles he had tossed into the air were only just falling down now.
He unhurriedly reached out his hands, caught the two pistols steadily, and then, with an extremely dashing movement, holstered them back under his armpits.
The entire room was filled with a strong smell of gunpowder and blood, but Morin seemed completely unaffected, just standing calmly in the middle.
The instruction unit soldiers who rushed in were all dumbfounded.
They looked at the corpses all over the floor, then at their commander’s breezy back, momentarily not knowing what to say.
Are we… late?
“Clean up the scene. There are two still alive; check their condition.”
Morin turned around and calmly issued orders, as if that slaughtering god who had just slaughtered all sides wasn’t him.
“Yes! Sir!”
The soldiers jolted, immediately returning to their senses, and began inspecting the corpses on the ground.
A medic also ran over to the two “lucky ones” still twitching on the ground, checking their injuries, continuously clicking his tongue in the process, marveling that these two had truly good luck.
Manstein and Paulus also walked in. Looking at the scene before them, they exchanged a glance, both seeing deep shock and a hint of… taking it for granted in each other’s eyes.
After all, this was the Colonel Morin they knew.
That man who could always create miracles.
Morin ignored his subordinates’ shock. He walked straight to that ornate armchair, arriving before the shivering old Emperor.
He adjusted his somewhat messy uniform, then solemnly executed a standard Saxon military salute.
Just like when he rescued Conrad at the General Staff, he “rebroadcast” it in a steady and powerful voice: “Your Majesty, in the name of the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s eternal ally, you are free.”
When Morin spoke that highly ceremonial phrase, Field Marshal Conrad, who arrived belatedly, just happened to rush into the bedchamber with a group of staff officers.
He had originally planned that, after rescuing the Emperor, he must be the first to rush up.
Then, imitating Morin’s earlier manner, put on a good performance in front of the old Emperor to farm a wave of loyalty.
And incidentally eliminate some negative views this monarch held of him in the past.
But he never imagined that despite rushing as fast as he could, he was still a step too slow.
He only saw corpses all over the floor, and that young Saxon colonel already standing before the Emperor.
Conrad opened his mouth, wanting to say something to assert his presence.
But looking at Morin’s calm profile, and the awed gazes of the surrounding instruction unit soldiers, he ultimately swallowed his words.
He knew very well in his heart exactly who had played the decisive role in this thrilling counter-coup operation.
Without Morin and his instruction unit, he would probably still be tied up in the General Staff office right now, listening to the rebels’ victory cheers.
Forget it, forget it. Since this allied colonel wants to share a portion of the “credit,” let him have it…
Conrad consoled himself inwardly, then adjusted his appearance, preparing to step forward and speak a few “intimate words” to His Majesty the Emperor.
However, the scene that unfolded next caught everyone off guard.
The old Emperor Franz Joseph I, freed from his ropes, didn’t show the relief of surviving a disaster and gratitude towards his saviors as everyone imagined.
He struggled up from the chair, looking around.
When his gaze swept over those soldiers in Saxon uniforms, and Austro-Hungarian officers like Conrad, what burst from his eyes was not gratification, but extreme terror and hatred.
“Traitors! All traitors!”
The old Emperor suddenly screamed like a frightened child.
He pointed at everyone present, his voice becoming sharp and piercing due to agitation.
“You… you are in cahoots with those maddened Royal Magic Guards! You all want to kill me! Usurp my throne!”
Screaming, he stumbled backward until his back hit the cold wall, with nowhere left to retreat.
He curled up in the corner, holding his head in his hands, continuously repeating words like “traitors” and “conspiracy.”
He completely lacked any of the majesty and decency a monarch should possess, looking just like a deranged, crazy old man.
The entire bedchamber instantly plunged into dead silence.
Everyone was bewildered by the old Emperor’s sudden reaction.
The smile on Field Marshal Conrad’s face completely froze, and the shade of green on his face seemed to deepen a bit.
The good news is, the Emperor didn’t die.
But the bad news is, the Emperor seems to have gone mad.
What does a deranged Emperor mean for this massive Empire already tottering in the storm?
Conrad simply didn’t dare to think further.
“Chamberlains, hurry and fetch the surviving chamberlains! And His Majesty’s personal physician!”
He was also the first to react, shouting anxiously at the staff officers behind him, trying to cover up his panic.
Morin, who was returning the two Broomhandle Mausers to their owners, also frowned upon seeing this scene.
Soon, the news of the Emperor’s successful rescue grew wings and rapidly spread throughout the entire Hofburg Palace, expanding towards the outer defense lines.
The Imperial Guard soldiers struggling to hold the front line erupted into earth-shattering cheers upon hearing this news.
“Long live His Majesty!”
“Long live Habsburg!”
Their morale was instantly ignited at this moment. Even the firing rate of their bolt-action rifles sped up a bit. They counter-suppressed the rebels using the same weapons, and even launched small-scale countercharges, pushing the palace defense line outward somewhat.
Simultaneously, Morin also contacted Ludwig outside the palace via the portable magitech communication terminal.
“‘Zeus’ calling ‘Hercules’, mission objective confirmed safe, support troops are returning to the perimeter, you may execute the next phase of the operational plan!”
“‘Hercules’ receives, preparing to assault!”
Ludwig’s voice came through the communication terminal, carrying a hint of irrepressible excitement.
Upon learning the Emperor was rescued and the overall situation was settled, he and the troops on the palace perimeter finally didn’t have to hold back because they needed to guard the palace gates.
As long as a wave of countercharges broke the enemy in front of them, coupled with the spread of the news that the Emperor had been rescued, it would be very difficult for these coup soldiers before them to have the morale to continue fighting.
It was time to put an end to this brief and bloody Battle of Vienna.
After ending communications with Morin, Ludwig turned on the Armored Knight’s loudspeakers and turned the power to maximum.
“The double-headed eagle flag has risen again over Hofburg Palace!”
“Everyone, prepare to charge!”