As Ludwig’s voice broadcasted across the battlefield through the loudspeaker on his machine, the soldiers on both sides entered entirely different states.
The Royal Guards on the palace’s outer defense line reacted as if drops of water had fallen into boiling oil, instantly erupting into waves of battle cries.
Seeing the double-headed eagle flag raised over Hofburg Palace again, the soldiers of the 35th Bohemian Infantry Regiment who launched the armed coup lost their will to fight entirely.
Ludwig quickly checked his machine’s armament, then drew his long-unused arming sword from behind his shield. He issued the highly anticipated command to the other two “Siegfried Mark 1” pilots.
“Arrow formation! Target: enemy infantry straight ahead! Crush them!”
The next second, the three steel giants—originally serving as mobile fortresses to cover the infantry—let out deafening roars from their hybrid magitech cores and internal combustion engines.
“Thump! Thump! Thump!”
Heavy metal feet strode forward, accelerating from a standstill in mere seconds.
Like three maddened prehistoric beasts, the three “Siegfried Mark 1s” crossed their own defense line with an unstoppable momentum. They launched the Armored Knights’ favorite charge straight into the already chaotic rebel positions!
The earth trembled beneath their feet.
The makeshift barricades piled with sandbags, furniture, and vehicle wreckage shattered effortlessly before them, fragile as children’s building blocks.
The charging coup soldiers looked up and saw a scene that tore their courage apart.
Three massive, death-radiating steel figures rapidly expanded in their vision.
If ancient infantry struggled to hold the line against charging heavy cavalry…
Then the oppressive presence of six-meter-tall, ten-ton Armored Knights, combined with the visual impact of their pure power and speed, instantly shattered the modern soldiers’ final psychological defenses.
“The Armored Knights are charging!”
“Run! Run away!”
Panic spread like a plague. The coup forces’ frontline collapsed the moment the Armored Knights charged.
At this instant, the infantry finally remembered the terror of being dominated by Armored Knights on the battlefield.
The Czech coup soldiers threw down their weapons and fled backward in silence, wishing their parents had given them two more legs.
However, the Armored Knights’ charge was merely the beginning of the counterattack.
“Royal Guards! For the Emperor! For the Empire!”
A Royal Guard officer drew his sword and leaped out from behind cover first. His face bore a fanatical, almost martyr-like expression.
“Shield of the Empire!”
“Hoo-hah!”
“Fix bayonets! Charge!”
A whole morning’s worth of suppressed shame, anger, and fear… transformed into earth-shattering war cries at this moment.
Hundreds of Royal Guard soldiers fixed bayonets to their rifles.
Following the footsteps of the three steel giants, they surged out from behind the defense line like a burst dam, charging at the routed enemy.
Bloodlust flashed in their eyes. They would use enemy blood to wash away the extraordinary disgrace of their palace being occupied and their Emperor captured!
In this moment, they were no longer the “royal honor guard” needing ally protection, but the sharpest sword of the Habsburg Dynasty!
The instruction unit soldiers did not join the charge. They simply kept their weapons ready and advanced in batches according to combat regulations.
They avoided firing as much as possible to prevent friendly fire.
Honestly, they were no longer needed in this battle. What followed was the Austro-Hungarian Empire’s own “family business.”
The three “Siegfried Mark 1s” rampaged through the coup forces’ formation. Since it was the final cleanup, Ludwig and his team finally lifted their ammunition restrictions.
They acted as highly efficient killing machines, mowing down swathes of enemies with their shoulder machine guns and arming swords.
Close behind, the Royal Guards mercilessly harvested stragglers and stubborn resisters with their bayonets.
The adjutant of the 35th Bohemian Infantry Regiment stood frozen, watching the avalanche-like rout before him.
The Vienna Chief of Police beside him had been killed by a stray bullet; his corpse, half its skull blown off, lay nearby.
The pistol slipped limply from the adjutant’s hand. He knew it was all over.
He didn’t surrender or flee. He just stared blankly at the “Siegfried Mark 1” drawing closer, the massive steel foot expanding in his pupils.
The next second, a massive shadow swallowed him.
The battle’s outcome held no further suspense.
When the morning light pierced the gunsmoke hanging over Vienna and spilled onto Hofburg Palace’s scarred dome, the fierce gunfire finally ceased entirely.
Morin stood on a second-floor balcony of the palace, overlooking the city that had just survived a catastrophe.
Down in the plaza, Royal Guard soldiers cleared the battlefield and gathered prisoners.
The heavy stench of blood and gunpowder permeated the air, thick enough to choke.
This chaos, brewing since before dawn, finally drew to a close at daybreak.
“Commander, did we… did we just suppress a coup in under two hours?”
Manstein walked up to Morin, his voice still carrying a dreamy daze. He looked at the devastated scene below, feeling it all seemed unreal.
“It caught us off guard, but it’s finally over…” Paulus added.
Hearing their words, Morin merely nodded without speaking. Another thought flashed through his mind.
Is it really over?
This storm in Vienna… and even across the entire Austro-Hungarian Empire, might have only just begun.
The old Emperor had visibly gone mad. With this multi-ethnic empire losing its final spiritual pillar, no one could say where it would head next.
Would Budapest really remain peaceful?
Given Morin’s limited knowledge of the Austro-Hungarian Empire from his previous world, those Hungarian nobles clearly wouldn’t sit quietly. This Vienna storm was likely just the beginning.
“Colonel Morin.” A complex voice sounded behind him.
Morin turned and saw Field Marshal Conrad approaching.
The Austro-Hungarian Chief of the Army General Staff had put away his previous arrogance and posturing. He walked up to Morin and solemnly saluted.
Morin didn’t know if this allied Field Marshal, known for his acting skills, was showing genuine emotion or pulling off a masterclass performance. But facing a salute from such a high-ranking officer, Morin dared not slight him. The young man instantly snapped to attention and returned the salute.
“Colonel Morin, on behalf of His Majesty the Emperor and the entire Empire, I thank you,” Conrad said solemnly. “You and your troops are forever friends of the Austro-Hungarian Army.”
“You flatter me, Your Excellency.” Morin returned the salute, his tone steady. “My troops and I merely fulfilled our duties as allies.”
The two exchanged a knowing look, saying no more.
Though the battle was over, the ensuing political maneuvering would be the true test of wisdom.
How to handle the aftermath, how to explain this sudden coup to the outside world, how to deal with a deranged Emperor… Each issue was enough to give Field Marshal Conrad a massive headache.
Of course, these were not Morin’s concerns. After Conrad left, he turned his gaze back to the horizon.
The golden morning light coated the ancient imperial capital in a warm glow, seemingly heralding a new day.
Morin slowly raised his hands, feeling the latent power within his body, modified by the “Second-Generation Sentinel” potion.
In this whirlpool of war sweeping across Europa, he realized he had unwittingly struggled up from being a mere “pawn” to become… a highly combat-capable pawn.
Well, he had arguably upgraded from a crossed-river pawn to a rook.
Though still a piece on the board, he had built a brand-new interpersonal network spanning Saxon industry, military, magic, and royalty.
While this network remained relatively thin, it wouldn’t stop Morin from weaving this web tighter and stronger, like a diligent spider.
As Morin pondered these matters, hurried footsteps interrupted his thoughts. A sweating messenger ran over.
Morin recognized him; he was part of the squad Morin sent to contact the Saxon Embassy during the Telegraph Office assault.
“Commander, we contacted the embassy!” The messenger saluted, bearing a wry expression. “But the process was a bit… convoluted.”
“How so?” Morin raised an eyebrow.
“The diplomats at the embassy refused to believe we were regular Saxon Imperial Army troops at first. They thought we were coup forces in disguise trying to trick them into opening the gates.”
Morin chuckled; that made sense.
If he were abroad and suddenly saw heavily armed domestic troops outside his embassy early in the morning, his first reaction would be similar—it just seemed too absurd.
“How did you resolve it?”
“Our squad leader finally lost his temper and threw our military IDs, dog tags, and—oh!—the sausages his mother made for him over the wall. Only then did they half-believingly open the door.”
Hearing this, Manstein and Paulus failed to keep a straight face, their mouths twitching.
So, identity verification for our Empire’s most elite unit relies entirely on hometown specialty foods?
Morin shook his head speechlessly and waved for the messenger to get to the point.
“After getting inside, we learned the embassy locked down early this morning upon hearing gunshots.”
Getting to business, the messenger’s expression turned serious as he relayed the news they acquired from the embassy.
The personnel at the Vienna embassy reacted extremely quickly, or rather, they were quite experienced.
The moment they heard gunshots in the morning, they entered a lockdown state and sent a telegram to Dresden reading: “Gunshots heard in Vienna.”
This exact moment coincided with the coup forces attacking their primary targets.
Consequently, the embassy lost all contact with the outside world immediately afterward.
Had the embassy staff reacted even slightly slower, or had the telegraph operator’s hands been less swift, that telegram would never have made it out.
Morin’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing this.
Crap.
These contextless telegrams were the most terrifying.
“Gunshots heard in Vienna” would be a public security incident in peacetime. But during a highly sensitive wartime period, it was no small matter.
If Dresden overthought it, assuming Austria-Hungary had collapsed completely or suffered a foreign invasion, they might overreact.
“Does the embassy have backup lines? Or a secret radio?” Morin pressed.
This was why he sent the messenger there, hoping the embassy possessed hidden lines to contact the outside.
Unfortunately, the Saxon Embassy in the early 1910s did not possess secure lines like those in spy movies.
The messenger explained that, according to embassy staff, if they needed to send covert messages during an emergency, they dispatched someone out of Vienna to handle it.
But given this morning’s situation, they obviously couldn’t risk sending someone out of the city.
Morin rubbed his brow and decisively turned to Paulus. “Paulus, take a few men back to the General Telegraph Office immediately… Right now, that’s our only channel to communicate with the outside world.”
“Send a telegram to Dresden as fast as possible. Relay the detailed situation here—especially why we are here, and the news that the coup has been suppressed! You must be fast; we cannot let the homeland misjudge the situation!”
“Understood!” Knowing the gravity of the matter, Paulus didn’t waste a word. He grabbed a few guard platoon soldiers and rushed downstairs.
With that arranged, Morin finally felt somewhat relieved.
In the ensuing hours, good news arrived in succession.
Several “Loyalist” units stationed around Vienna arrived belatedly, much like the police at the end of a movie, after the dust had settled.
However, they took over the capital’s defense to prevent further emergencies.
As for the coup leader, Mr. Masaryk, his fate was fraught with dark humor.
He and a group of Czech deputies, along with their trusted aides, tried to slip out of the city amidst the chaos, only to be tied up by their own subordinates before they even made it out.
These subordinates figured it out quickly: the coup failed, and a reckoning was imminent.
Handing over the “ringleaders” now might earn them a pardon for their crimes.
Thus, the “Founding Father” dreaming of establishing a new nation was hogtied like a New Year’s pig and delivered to the Royal Guards.
Of course, the most comforting news for Morin came from the train station.
With the assistance of Ludwig’s Armored Knights and the armed magitech technicians, the combat engineers managed to dismantle the crippled Britannian “Hound Mark 4 Modified” in the alley and truck it back to the military train.
“Now that’s some good stuff…”
Morin rubbed his chin, already calculating how to “borrow” its technology.
According to Ludwig’s combat details, this thing perfectly fit Morin’s vision of a “long-range armor hunter.”
Dresden, the Grand Palace.
Near noon, Albert II learned from Chancellor Hollweg about the “Gunshots heard in Vienna” telegram sent by the Imperial Embassy in Vienna.
The Saxon Emperor instantly realized something had gone wrong in Vienna.
Reacting swiftly, he ordered the Army General Staff to immediately contact the Fifth Army Group, which had already entered Austro-Hungarian territory, while convening the Supreme Command to discuss the situation.
“It’s been two hours. Still no new information?”
Albert II’s voice betrayed no emotion, but those familiar with him knew this was the calm before the storm.
Sitting below him, Imperial Chancellor Hollweg wiped cold sweat from his forehead and said softly, “Your Majesty, we have tried all channels, but Vienna is like a black hole. No news is coming out.”
“Could it be…” a senior official ventured cautiously, “that the Balkan nations have attacked?”
“Impossible, absolutely impossible!”
Moltke the Younger, well-versed in the military capabilities of their ally and surrounding nations, rejected it outright. “Our ally certainly has all sorts of problems, but if the Serbians could silently fight their way into Vienna, I’ll eat this table!”
No one dared laugh at Moltke’s words. Albert II turned his gaze to the Chief of the Army General Staff.
“What does the General Staff think?”
“Your Majesty, the possibility of the Balkan armies breaching the defense lines and reaching Vienna is infinitesimal… Our intelligence shows that while the front lines are strained, they haven’t collapsed completely.”
Moltke paused, his tone turning grim. “Therefore, the second possibility is much more likely: a drastic internal upheaval has occurred within the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”
Deathly silence filled the conference room. Everyone understood what this meant.
The Saxon Empire’s confidence in preparing to strike the Eastern Front right now rested largely on having a relatively stable ally in the rear.
If the Austro-Hungarian Empire imploded at this juncture, Saxony’s flank would be completely exposed. Forget about attacking… just holding their own homeland would be a blessing.
“The Eastern Reserve Army Group has been conducting dispersed training along the border. We can order an emergency assembly at any time.”
Moltke took a deep breath, speaking very seriously. “Your Majesty, if Vienna has truly lost control, I recommend immediately sending the Eastern Reserve Army Group across the border to forcibly take over the Austro-Hungarian border defenses, or even… march directly on Vienna.”
This was an extremely dangerous proposal, essentially tantamount to declaring war on their ally.
However, everyone present knew that in the face of national interest, nothing was off the table.
Albert II furrowed his brows deeply. Just as he was about to make a decision, the conference room doors burst open.
A confidential secretary, clutching a freshly decoded telegram, stumbled in. Disregarding basic etiquette, he rushed straight to the Emperor.
Albert II snatched the telegram first. After glancing at it, his expression turned incredibly strange.
He handed it to Hollweg, ordering him to read it aloud.
Hollweg took the telegram. After just one glance, his tense face began to twitch violently.
His expression morphed from terror to bewilderment, finally freezing in a bizarre mix of crying and laughing.
“Read it, Lord Hollweg…” Albert II said in a deep voice.
“This morning, a large-scale armed coup occurred in Vienna, the capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Coup forces briefly occupied the Army General Staff and surrounded the Royal Palace…”
Gasps filled the conference room.
It really was a coup! And they even lost the General Staff!
Hollweg paused, then continued reading:
“…However, due to a dispatch error by the Austro-Hungarian railway, the military train carrying our Imperial Guard Assault Instruction Unit was mistakenly sent to Vienna Westbahnhof.”
“Upon ascertaining the situation, the unit’s commander, Colonel Friedrich von Morin, decisively led his troops in a counterattack!”
“He has successfully rescued Austro-Hungarian Chief of the Army General Staff, Field Marshal Conrad, breached the Hofburg Palace occupied by coup forces, and rescued Emperor Franz Joseph I.”
“The situation in Vienna is now largely under control, and the coup leaders have been captured.”
Reading the final word, Hollweg lowered the telegram.
Deathly silence enveloped the conference room.
Everyone’s jaws dropped, staring wide-eyed at each other as if listening to a fairy tale.
After several seconds, Moltke, having exchanged a glance with Falkenhayn, managed to squeeze out a sentence from his throat: “Are you saying… our Army’s instruction unit was sent to the wrong place by those Austro-Hungarian fools, and then conveniently crushed the coup over there?”
Hollweg nodded. “That’s what the telegram says.”
“…”
“This… this works too?” Falkenhayn couldn’t help but curse.
Morin again.
Why is it always this guy?
The thought flashed through everyone’s minds simultaneously.
From Liège to Charleroi, to Amiens, to Paris… and now Vienna. This guy seemed to possess some special ability: wherever he went, major events followed, and somehow, they always miraculously turned into good things.
Beneath the table, Albert II clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his flesh.
In that fleeting moment earlier, realizing his greatest ally was in trouble, the Saxon Emperor had genuinely felt a sense of doom.
He had envisioned all sorts of subsequent possibilities, even anticipating that the ensuing chain reaction might ultimately cost the Empire the war.
But he had never expected that a coup erupting in his ally’s capital would be accidentally suppressed by Morin.
“God bless Saxony…” Albert II muttered to himself.
Sitting beside him, Hollweg didn’t catch it and asked instinctively, “Your Majesty, what did you say?”
Albert II suddenly started laughing. His laughter grew louder and louder until he almost lost his composure.
He slammed his hand on the table and declared loudly, “I said—God bless Saxony!”
The atmosphere in the conference room instantly shot from freezing to boiling.
The generals broke into smiles and began whispering to each other, the massive weight on their chests vanishing instantly.
However, as more detailed battle reports and intelligence trickled in, especially when the section describing Franz Joseph I’s mental state was presented, the atmosphere shifted subtly once more.
“Your Majesty…”
Hollweg looked at the report in his hands, his eyes flickering, clearly struck by a thought.
“According to Colonel Morin’s report, Franz Joseph I exhibited severe symptoms of delirium after being rescued, even failing to recognize his own Chief of Staff.”
“Although Colonel Morin worded the report very tactfully, the implication is clear—that old Emperor might have gone mad.”