Molin’s gaze swept over the system map. The small moving icons that represented enemy patrols were clearly visible in his field of vision.
This one-way transparency, this informational advantage, was their greatest reliance.
“No. We continue forward.” Molin made a decision that stunned everyone.
“Sir?!” Corporal Bowman’s voice went shrill.
“Follow my orders.”
Molin’s voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable decisiveness.
“We won’t take the main road. We’ll cut through these country lanes and woods, get close to the city outskirts, then see what the situation is.”
He pointed at the gaps between the patrol icons on the map, plotting an entirely new route in his mind.
“Everyone, hide your bicycles. We proceed on foot. Remember, not a sound.”
The soldiers exchanged looks, but in the end, they chose to obey.
Under Molin’s lead, the six-man squad began moving through the outskirts of Seville like ghosts.
The closer they got to the city, the heavier the tension in the air became.
Molin focused almost all his attention on the mini-map in his field of vision.
Just then, several moving red diamond icons suddenly flickered at the edge of the map.
[Kingdom Army Patrol Squad (Scale: 12 men)]
“Stop! Take cover!”
Molin abruptly waved his hand, his voice pressed extremely low.
Everyone immediately dropped into a half-man-high irrigation ditch nearby. The ditch seemed to have been abandoned and was overgrown with weeds, which now served to conceal Molin and the others.
Half a minute later, a squad of Kingdom Army soldiers, slouching along with cigarettes in their mouths, walked past along a field ridge not far from the ditch where they were hiding.
They complained about something as they walked, completely unaware of the danger close at hand.
Only after those red dots had moved far away on the map did Molin let out a breath and gesture for everyone to continue forward.
The way Corporal Bowman looked at Molin was filled with even deeper admiration.
The platoon leader was like someone who had grown a third eye, always able to foresee danger in advance.
What they did not know was that this seemingly miraculous prediction, to Molin, who possessed the system map, was nothing more than having the “whole map” revealed.
The enemy’s movements were almost one-way transparent in his eyes.
Relying on this informational advantage, they skirted several patrol squads without any real danger and successfully infiltrated the suburbs of Seville.
When they slipped into one of the outermost residential districts of Seville without incident, the scene before them gave Molin an entirely new understanding of how low this army could sink.
On the streets, Kingdom Army soldiers stood in twos and threes, leaning against the walls and basking in the sun.
Some even swaggered into roadside cafés and “took” coffee and pastries from the terrified shopkeepers without paying a single coin.
Not far away, in a corner by the wall, several soldiers were gathered together playing cards, shouting and making a racket.
How was this anything like an army about to face a major battle? They were clearly a gang of bandits occupying a city!
And just then, an even more outrageous scene unfolded.
Four men in well-tailored officers’ uniforms laughed loudly as they forcibly dragged away three young girls who had been passing by on the street.
Ignoring their screams and struggles, they dragged them straight into a two-story building nearby that seemed to have been requisitioned.
The surrounding soldiers were completely used to this, and some even whistled and burst into jeering laughter.
When the girls’ families and some furious citizens rushed forward to demand an explanation, those soldiers immediately raised the rifles in their hands.
The black muzzles were aimed at these unarmed compatriots, keeping them firmly blocked outside.
This scene deeply shocked Molin, who came from an era of peace.
It was hard for him to connect these lawless thugs in uniform, who bullied the weak and even pointed their guns at their own people, with the word “army.”
Or rather, he could only think of the dark era of the motherland in another world. The warlords and reactionary armies of that time might have been just like this.
Amid his anger, a bold idea also rose in his heart.
These officers, drunk on their own arrogance, were practically a breakthrough point delivered right to his door.
He noticed that although those soldiers had blocked the civilians, no one dared approach the two-story building.
Clearly, they did not want to disturb their superiors’ “pleasure.”
That also meant the building had now become a relatively isolated and secure target.
A cold gleam flashed through Molin’s eyes.
How could someone who had seen the light tolerate darkness?
He gestured to Corporal Bowman and the others behind him, pointing toward the rear of that small building.
Everyone immediately understood.
They silently circled around the street and, using the buildings for cover, soon arrived at the backyard of the small building.
Just as Molin had expected, there was no guard here at all.
The courtyard wall was not high, and they climbed over it with ease.
In the backyard, there were only a few hens huddled against the wall. They showed no reaction at all to these uninvited guests.
It was as if they had tacitly permitted something.
The girls’ cries and the men’s wanton laughter coming from upstairs made anger rise in the hearts of Corporal Bowman and the others, and also provided the best cover for their operation.
Molin made a gesture, signaling for everyone to sling their rifles behind their backs.
He shortened the sling of his Gew.98 rifle as much as possible, making the weapon cling tightly to his back, then lightly steadied it with one hand to reduce bumps and noise as he moved.
This rifle, nearly 1.3 meters long, was a precise killing tool in open ground, but in such a narrow indoor environment, it became a burden.
The others immediately followed suit.
“Bayonets!”
Molin gave the order in a breathy whisper.
“Shhk—”
Several faint sounds of metal scraping rang out. The six of them, Molin included, drew S1898 bayonets from the sheaths at their waists.
The current standard-issue bayonet of the Saxon Empire’s army was more than half a meter in total length.
Rather than a knife, it was more like a shortsword, flashing with a cold gleam in the dim light.
Molin knew very well that this world had not yet had its heart broken by trench warfare, so the development of cold weapons for ordinary soldiers was basically stagnant.
Before professional combat knives and military daggers appeared, this was already the best weapon they could use for close-quarters indoor combat.
He led the way to the back door of the building and found that it was merely ajar.
He gently pushed it open a crack, listened for a moment, and after confirming that there was no one downstairs, slipped inside first.
A smell mixed with alcohol and cologne rushed into his face.
They crept to the stairwell leading to the second floor. The voices upstairs became even louder.
“What are you struggling for? Country bumpkins like you wouldn’t even be fit to get into my bed up north!”
“It’s your honor that we’re letting you serve us. You should learn to be grateful!”
“We’re helping you fight the rebels and the Saxons. We’re risking our lives here, so you’d better behave and serve us properly!”
Just listen to that. Was that even fucking human speech?