Chapter 2: Neither Holy, Nor an Empire
“General Mackensen, we have already shown you sufficient respect. I hope you can also grant us the respect we are due.”
The middle-aged officer who had asked the question stared at Mackensen, his expression somewhat hostile, and said:
“At the very least, when referring to my country, please use her full name.”
Mackensen gave a cold laugh when he heard this.
“Full name. The Holy Britannian Empire? What do you people have to do with anything holy?”
“Neither holy, nor an empire.”
Well, this one was also the type who wouldn’t yield an inch with his mouth.
However, the exchange between the two of them also allowed Mo Lin to obtain more information in a short period of time. The mysterious voice in his head rang out once more, and the contents of the “Information” interface updated at the same time.
【Current Information Collection Rate: 9%】
【The Holy Britannian Empire, with its capital located in the Britannian Isles region, occupies a large number of colonies across the world. It is an autocratic nation ruled dictatorially by the blood relatives of the emperor’s clan.】
This time, even without the system’s prompt, Mo Lin could guess just from the name alone that this was definitely an otherworld version of Great Britain.
Although Mo Lin did not know what connection this country had with the “superpower” from some ancient ACG work.
What he could be certain of was that this country’s relationship with the Saxon Empire was probably not very good.
At present, these two empires, for some reason, had both dispatched military forces to this “Kingdom of Aragon” where everyone currently was, but it seemed they had not yet formally gone to war.
And these Britannian soldiers seemed to have achieved the feat of becoming an “otherworld Li Yunlong” as well.
They had ambushed a military observer delegation from the Saxon Empire, then captured Mo Lin and the others.
On the other side, Lieutenant General Mackensen’s foul mouth had also successfully earned him the other party’s “cordial” response.
After several solid punches landed with loud thuds, Lieutenant General Mackensen toppled over with a clatter, chair and all.
And these three Britannian—
Fine, Holy Britannian officers did not forget Mo Lin off to the side either. After another round of punches and kicks, they beat him to the ground too.
Immediately afterward, two pistols were pressed against the crotches of Mo Lin and Lieutenant General Mackensen.
“Our patience is limited. We will ask you one last time. Are you Saxons preparing to intervene in the Aragonese civil war? What are your military deployments?!”
“Just shoot me dead already. I fucking really don’t know anything.”
Mo Lin said weakly. Right now, he only hoped the other party would give him a quick end and stop torturing him, and even more so, that they would not make him suffer the agony of having his balls blown off.
But after he said this, the Britannian officer in front of him actually put away his gun, and a faint cold smile appeared on his face.
“Very good. Your loyalty to your country has won my respect. However, this makes me even more certain that you must possess valuable intelligence.”
Lying on the floor, Mo Lin felt like he did not know whether to laugh or cry. He turned his head and spat out a mouthful of bloody foam, then said:
“No, seriously, what exactly are you people thinking? I’m just a lowly second lieutenant. How could I possibly have the military intelligence you need?!”
“Precisely because you are only a second lieutenant, it becomes so unreasonable!”
“If you are not some important figure, or if you do not possess some important intelligence, then why would you appear in an officer delegation whose lowest rank is major?! And ride in the same vehicle as a lieutenant general?!”
“Wait… so that’s what it was?”
“Bang!”
Another heavy kick landed, sending Mo Lin’s vision into blackness.
“Go on pretending. Once you’re taken to the professional interrogation room in the rear, I will ‘entertain’ you properly. I hope your mouth will still be as tough then as it is now.”
The Britannian officer grinned, revealing a savage smile.
Just as he was about to say something else, the cellar door was opened, and a rather young-looking officer hurriedly ran down the stairs in a panic.
The young officer reported something urgently to his colleagues in the cellar in a language Mo Lin had never heard before.
Yet Mo Lin was astonished to discover that he could actually understand it.
The tones and pronunciation of this language were somewhat similar to English from the world before he crossed over.
He closed his eyes and focused on distinguishing those jumbled syllables. In his mind, they automatically translated into meanings he could understand.
“Major! The temporary positions constructed on the perimeter are under attack! It’s the Saxons, and another group… another group of unidentified armed personnel!”
The young officer’s voice was full of panic.
As his words fell, waves of muffled explosions and intermittent gunfire also came in through the open cellar doorway, much clearer than before.
The atmosphere in the cellar instantly grew taut.
The expression of the leading Britannian major turned extremely ugly. He kicked Lieutenant General Mackensen’s chair.
“Transfer them to the rear immediately! Hurry!”
“Yes, sir!”
The young officer accepted the order and immediately turned to run up the stairs, preparing to call people down to help.
But just as he stepped onto the first stair, an earth-shattering boom came from outside.
Boom!
The entire cellar shook, and dust fell in streams from overhead.
The young officer stumbled underfoot and screamed as he rolled down the short wooden staircase.
Before he could crawl up from the floor, a tall black shadow leapt down from the cellar entrance.
The figure landed with extreme steadiness. One foot, clad in a heavy military boot, stomped hard onto the young officer’s chest.
With a crack, the sound of ribs breaking rang out.
Before the young officer’s scream could escape his mouth, the rifle in the black shadow’s hands was already aimed at his head.
“Bang!”
A close-range roar exploded through the cellar, making Mo Lin’s eardrums sting.
The young officer’s head burst open like a watermelon, red and white matter splattering everywhere.
Immediately afterward, three or four more black shadows filed in.
Their movements were swift and their coordination seamless, and they made almost no unnecessary sound.
The remaining two Britannian officers had just reacted when they raised their weapons and pulled the triggers toward the cellar entrance.
But aside from the gunshots, only a few crisp clangs could be heard, along with several sparks scraped out in the darkness.
In the next instant, three black shadows charged forward at a speed Mo Lin could not make out.
Some sort of round-shield-like protective gear was raised in front of them, absurdly blocking the pistol bullets fired at close range, and finally slamming fiercely into their respective targets, knocking them over.
“Pfft! Pfft!”
The sound of sharp blades tearing through cloth and piercing flesh rang out.
The three Britannian officers did not even have time to let out a groan before they collapsed limply into pools of blood.
The major who had previously punched and kicked Mo Lin and Lieutenant General Mackensen, and had even uttered those threats, fell beside Mo Lin with his body twitching.
His eyes were bulging wide as he stared at Mo Lin, dying with his eyes open, as though he could not believe he had died just like this.
Mo Lin, however, had no attention to spare for this dead man at the moment.
All his focus had been drawn to these attackers who had suddenly appeared.
The battle ended too quickly, taking no more than a few seconds from start to finish.
Only now did Mo Lin, by the light of the still-burning oil lamp, finally see the other party’s attire clearly.
The attackers were wearing field-gray military uniforms in the same style as his and Lieutenant General Mackensen’s.
This was good news. It meant these attackers were most likely on his side.
But over the uniforms of these armed men was a set of breastplates, pauldrons, and armguards that gleamed with a cold metallic light.
The plate armor covered their chests, shoulders, and arms. Its design was simple and ancient, yet full of a sense of power, and it looked incomparably heavy.
On their heads were pot-like helmets that completely covered their faces.
What made Mo Lin’s brain crash even harder was that one of the soldiers pulled a still-dripping one-handed sword from the corpse of the Britannian major, casually wiped the blood off on the corpse’s clothes, then returned it to the scabbard at his waist.
Bolt-action rifles, plate armor, and cold weapons.
What the hell was this combination?
Mo Lin felt as if his worldview had once again been smashed to pieces.
Why had even medieval heavy-armored tin cans shown up?
But Mo Lin could not care about all that right now. After only a brief moment of thought, he said to these armed soldiers in a somewhat weak voice:
“I’m fine! Save His Excellency the Lieutenant General first!”