Daniel was a farmer from the northern mountains of Aragon.
Unmarried, but he had a girl he liked.
Three months ago, he was snatched from his field by the Kingdom Army’s conscription squad, crammed into an ill-fitting military uniform, and issued an old rifle whose rifling was nearly worn smooth.
He didn’t want to fight; he just wanted to go home, farm his land, and save money to marry Maria from the neighboring village.
But now, he was sprawled on the cold flagstones of Seville, next to the warm corpse of a comrade, as bullets flew incessantly from all directions, hitting the ground and walls, kicking up bursts of dust and sparks.
Just minutes ago, their officer had been telling them that the Saxons and the rebels had run away! This was just going to be an easy armed parade!
But when the first shot rang out, everyone was stunned.
Immediately after, gunfire erupted like popping beans, ringing out from every window, every rooftop, and every unseen corner along both sides of the street.
Daniel didn’t even know where the bullets were coming from; he only saw the men around him fall one after another, letting out agonizing screams.
Instinctively, he dropped to the ground with the crowd, burying his head low, his body shaking like a sieve.
“Take cover! Find cover now!” the officer screamed hoarsely.
But where could they hide? There was no cover on the wide street; they were exposed like sitting ducks under countless muzzles.
“Get inside! Quickly get into those houses!”
The instinct for survival drove the soldiers; they scrambled and crawled towards the buildings lining both sides of the street.
Daniel also scrambled up. He fixed his eyes on the nearest two-story building and charged towards it with all his might.
However, when he reached the door, he despairingly realized that the first-floor doors and windows of the building had all been nailed shut from the inside with bricks and planks; there was no way in!
He violently slammed the door, smashing the windows with his rifle butt, but the damned door wouldn’t budge.
Meanwhile, the street behind him had utterly turned into a slaughterhouse.
The MG08 heavy machine gun, lying in ambush at the end of the street, finally let out its roar.
That heavy machine gun, which Morin treated as a treasure, now displayed its true power as a ‘battlefield reaper.’
The machine gunner didn’t even need to aim specifically, as the Kingdom Army’s black-uniformed soldiers were packed tightly along the sides of the street.
He only needed to sweep his fire across the densest part of the crowd, and the scorching bullets effortlessly tore through human bodies, raising large plumes of bloody mist.
The Kingdom Army soldiers fell in swaths, like wheat being mowed down.
Daniel was scared out of his wits. He gave up on ramming the door and turned to look for another entrance.
Just then, he saw an open doorway in a building not far away.
As if grasping at a life raft, Daniel rushed towards it desperately.
Many others had the same idea; a dozen or more Kingdom Army soldiers frantically poured into that building.
The cramped space was filled with men, pushing and shoving one another, all trying to hide deeper inside.
No one noticed that the bottom of the room’s chimney had long been cleaned out, and even the metal grate meant to block it had been removed.
Daniel was squeezed in the middle, nearly suffocating.
Just then, he heard a strange sound from above—as if something had dropped down the chimney.
“What’s that?” someone asked, looking up.
But no one could answer him. Only a few soldiers close to the chimney saw a small black object roll out from its base.
The next second, a violent explosion occurred.
A hand grenade, tossed down the chimney by a Saxon soldier ambushed on the rooftop, detonated inside the crowded room.
Then came the second, and the third… The roaring sound nearly shattered Daniel’s eardrums, and the scorching blast wave and flying shrapnel instantly consumed the entire room.
Daniel felt a tremendous force throw him to the ground, with countless bodies piling on top of him.
He smelled the strong scent of gunpowder and burnt flesh; his ears were filled with shrill screams and groans.
He didn’t know if he was injured; he only knew he had to get out of there.
Daniel desperately crawled out from under the pile of bodies, finally emerging from that living hell.
Along with other blood-soaked Kingdom Army soldiers, he fled from that building of death, crying out in terror, and was once again exposed on the street.
Then, what greeted them was the long-awaited torrent of bullets from all directions.
The farmer from the northern mountains of Aragon had just stumbled out the doorway when he felt a sharp numbness in his thigh, and his entire body collapsed to the ground. He looked down to see a bullet hole in his trousers, from which blood was gushing out.
Excruciating pain instantly swept over his entire body.
He wanted to crawl, to escape this terrifying place, but his body was already starting to disobey him.
Daniel’s vision began to blur. He saw the golden wheat fields of his hometown, and he saw Maria standing in the field, smiling at him.
“Maria…”
He murmured, then his head slumped, and he completely lost consciousness.
Scenes like this were simultaneously unfolding on every street in Seville.
The first wave of attack by the Kingdom Army and the Britannians failed to advance even a hundred meters, smashing head-on into the net constructed of interlocking fire, barricades, and indoor death traps.
They left behind bodies strewn everywhere and wounded men groaning in pain, retreating in disarray.
In the temporary command post behind the lines, General José Sanjurjo, commander of the Kingdom Army’s 24th Division, was listening to the battle report from the messenger returning from the front, his face ashen.
“What did you say? The first wave of attack… was repulsed?”
The messenger reporting the news kept his head down, not daring to meet his eyes. “Yes, General.”
“Our soldiers simply couldn’t break through, and the casualties… the casualties were extremely heavy.”
“Trash! All of them are trash!” Sanjurjo kicked over a chair beside him, and the atmosphere in the tent became extremely oppressive.
He couldn’t understand. His side clearly had a numerical advantage and even received reinforcements from the Britannians, so how did the first assault turn into such a disaster?
“What kind of magic did those Saxons use? Have they started deploying attached mages as well?!”
He clutched at his hair, like a beast in a frenzy.
“General, the enemy… the enemy’s tactics are very strange. They abandoned the streets and deployed all their forces inside the buildings. Our soldiers were attacked from all directions as soon as they entered the city, making it impossible to organize an effective counterattack.”
“Inside the buildings?” Sanjurjo was startled.
While he wasn’t a brilliant general, he had spent half his life in service in the Kingdom of Aragon and had fought his fair share of battles, but he had never heard of such a tactic.
In his view, war should involve deploying forces on open ground, coordinating artillery, cavalry, and infantry, with the core objective being to locate and annihilate the enemy’s main force in a field battle… A glorious Austerlitz-style victory was the truly civilized way of war, one that did not affect civilians.
But what was this, with the Saxons hiding in houses? Could that even be called war?
“What about the Britannians? Wasn’t their Northumberland Musket Regiment following behind? What do they say?”
At this point, Sanjurjo also remembered his ‘allies.’
The officer’s expression became even more unpleasant: “The Britannians… they saw our troops falter and immediately retreated, not engaging in the fighting at all.”
“What?!” Sanjurjo felt his blood pressure shoot up instantly.
He had long known that those arrogant Britannians looked down on the Kingdom Army, treating them as cannon fodder, but he hadn’t expected them to be so absolute about it!
A huge sense of humiliation and rage flooded his heart.
Could it be that without the Britannians’ help, the Kingdom Army was completely useless?! “Pass on my order!”
Sanjurjo’s eyes were bloodshot. He pointed at Seville on the map and roared: “Launch another attack! All units, push forward!”
“General, but—”
“There are no ‘buts’!” Sanjurho interrupted him rudely. “Tell the surviving Magic Crystal Cannon battery to open fire! Blast the city relentlessly! Flatten all those turtle shells for me!”
A staff officer quickly stepped forward to dissuade him: “General, please reconsider! Firing now will reveal the location of our last Magic Crystal Cannon battery! The enemy’s cavalry is still maneuvering outside—that’s too dangerous!”
“I don’t care about that anymore!”
Sanjurjo had lost his rationality; all he wanted now was to use the most ferocious bombardment to wash away the recent shame.
“Execute the order! Now! Immediately!”
Seeing the general’s frantic demeanor, everyone fell silent.
They knew that the second wave of attack would be even bloodier and more brutal than the first.
But a military order was absolute.
Soon, the dull sound of artillery fire rang out again. This time, the targets of the shells were inside the city of Seville.
(End of this Chapter)