"What unit are those people from? Do they not want to live anymore?!"

In an observation post of the third defense line, Colonel Magnuson, the commander of the 93rd Infantry Regiment, held his binoculars, his eyes almost popping out.

In his field of vision, five figures were running like crazy across the open ground, which was dotted with craters and where stray bullets could fly by at any moment.

It should be known that although the Britannians’ artillery bombardment had become very sparse now, No Man’s Land was still not safe.

There might be unexploded shells, and snipers firing from who knows where.

A normal person would wish they could bury themselves in the dirt at this time, but these five people were running faster than rabbits, and their target was pointed straight at the second defense line where the fighting was fiercest.

"That seems to be... the General’s Guard?" The adjutant beside him squinted for a while, his tone somewhat hesitant.

Those four tower-like figures were too easy to identify.

Full plate armor, equipped with two-handed greatswords, shields, or modified heavy machine guns, the ground seeming to vibrate when they ran.

Although they looked clumsy, the explosive power of their modified bodies was simply astonishing. Every step they took kicked up large patches of dirt, and their speed was even a bit faster than light infantry.

"So what if it’s the General’s Guard? How many bullets can current plate armor block?" Colonel Magnuson cursed, "Quick! Yell at them to come in! Don’t be live targets up there!"

Ever since the war entered the trench warfare stage, the front-line officers’ "filter" for these "Plate Armor Supermen" of their own and the opposing Britannians had long shattered to pieces.

The number of automatic weapons equipped by both warring parties in this great war was increasing, especially the number of heavy machine guns, which could be said to increase every day.

Under increasingly high fire density, even these "Plate Armor Supermen" would be swept into sieves by heavy machine guns, or have their internal organs directly shattered by large-caliber artillery shells.

Times had changed. This magitech-crafted plate armor was no longer synonymous with invincibility.

"Hey! You over there! Get into the communication trench! It’s dangerous up there!"

Colonel Magnuson’s adjutant boldly left the observation post, leaning half his body out of the communication trench, waving his arm and shouting loudly.

However, those five figures didn’t even turn their heads.

The man wearing the officer’s overcoat running at the very front even took the time to raise his hand and make a "keep moving forward" gesture.

Then he led the four "Plate Armor Supermen" directly jumping over a section of the communication trench, sweeping further forward like a gust of wind.

"Madmen... truly a bunch of madmen." The adjutant shrank his head back, his face full of disbelief.

"No need to shout..."

Colonel Magnuson put down his binoculars, the expression on his face becoming somewhat strange.

"One officer leading four members of the General’s Guard, I was wondering why this combination looked so familiar... This should be the commander of the instruction unit, Lieutenant Colonel Morin."

The adjutant was stunned for a moment, then showed a look of sudden realization: "Oh... the unit of the Butcher of Charleroi? Then it’s fine..."

On this front line that ate people without spitting out bones, if other units did some things, it was courting death... 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

But if the instruction unit did it, everyone would feel—hmm, this is very reasonable.

At this moment, Morin didn’t know he had become a "scenic line" in the eyes of friendly forces.

He was just focusing on sprinting.

The air in his lungs was burning, and every breath carried the pungent smell of gunpowder smoke.

But he didn’t slow down; instead, he ran faster.

This kind of unshielded sprint on the battlefield seemed reckless... and in fact, not cautious at all.

However, after many battles, Morin’s use of the "system" had reached a proficient level.

Compared to before when he would exit the system interface due to various external interferences... Morin could now even frequently toggle the large map to "get information" during combat.

If someone could see Morin’s perspective at this time, they would definitely be surprised to find that his "screen switching" speed was as fast as a certain "strictest father in LPL" (League of Legends Pro League reference).

Every time he instantly toggled the minimap to the large map with more information, Morin could update his situational awareness of the surroundings in his mind.

Where the red enemy unit cards were gathering, where the friendly forces’ firepower gaps were, where the safe passage routes were...

This information flowed into his brain like water, allowing him to find that only path of survival on this chaotic battlefield.

"Is this the oppressive feeling of 250,000 people charging..."

In the gap of one screen switch, Morin glanced at the macro zoom of the map.

At the red-blue border representing the battle line, the red unit cards were so dense it made one’s scalp numb.

According to the data continuously refreshed in the [Intelligence] tab during this period, the Britannian Expeditionary Force had invested heavily this time.

A full 14 divisions, more than 250,000 soldiers, were stuffed like canned sardines into this 25-kilometer battle line.

On average, every kilometer of the battle line had to withstand the impact of 10,000 enemies.

And this was only the first wave.

The system intelligence showed that the forces deployed by the Britannian Expeditionary Force in the Gallic Republic had now reached 600,000.

In contrast, when General Mackensen and other staff officers arranged the defense line of the First Army Group, they only deployed 6,000-8,000 people per kilometer of the battle line.

Relying on two armored trains and two armored airships for mobile support.

Doing this was mainly to retain a sufficient number of reserves and depth, making the entire defense line full of resilience and not easily punched through with one blow.

And right now on the map, the small area representing the instruction unit and the 93rd Infantry Regiment showed a completely different situation from other areas.

On other defense lines, the blue Saxon unit cards were all fighting while retreating, or trying to delay the enemy’s attack in the second parallel trench and communication trenches.

But on this frontage of less than one kilometer responsible by the instruction unit and the 93rd Infantry Regiment, the situation was completely the opposite.

The blue unit cards representing the instruction unit not only didn’t retreat, but instead acted like sharp knives, stabbing fiercely into the red tide.

Those red unit cards that had originally infiltrated the communication trenches were disappearing at a visible rate.

"Everyone is defending, and only my unit is counterattacking? It seems the popularization of automatic firepower is still not enough, and the individual quality of other units hasn’t risen yet..."

Morin complained inwardly, but his steps became brisker.

Since the instruction unit in the communication trenches ahead had basically controlled the situation, the safety of his rapid raid from outside the trench was even higher now.

At the same time, in the area between the first and second trenches.

Ludwig was piloting his "Siegfried Type 1", standing at the edge of a section of the communication trench.

This steel behemoth, which should have been clashing head-on with the enemy on the frontal battlefield, was doing something extremely "lacking martial virtue" right now.

It didn’t go looking for the opponent’s Armored Knights for hand-to-hand single combat, but just stood brazenly on the ground, looking down condescendingly at that winding communication trench.

On the positions on both sides of its head, the two magically modified MG08 heavy machine guns looked like two tumors.

The thick water-cooling jackets even emitted wisps of hot steam.

"Do these Britannians really think Armored Knights won’t attack units in the trenches?"

Ludwig couldn’t help shaking his head. In his field of vision, that communication trench was like a net bag stuffed full of fish.

After the Britannian soldiers noticed enemy Armored Knights around, they shrank into the communication trenches, as if doing so would shake off the attention of the Armored Knights—which was indeed true according to past experience.

"In that case, I won’t hold back."

Ludwig controlled the machine, and amidst the increasingly terrified gazes of these soldiers, strode over.

He "shrugged his shoulders," and the Magitech Muscle Bundles in the corresponding positions of the machine instantly reacted, driving a set of mechanical devices. The muzzles of the two heavy machine guns instantly spewed tongues of fire.

"Da-da-da-da-da-da—!!!"

This wasn’t a short burst, nor was it suppressive fire, it was strafing.

It was a ruthless strafing from right to left, like a farmer swinging a scythe to harvest wheat.

Tracer bullets drew two straight lines of fire in the air, drilling directly into that unshielded communication trench, and also guiding the attack direction for Ludwig.

This firing angle from top to bottom was simply devastating for the infantry in the trench.

Any cover, any corner, completely failed in the face of firepower coming from overhead.

Bullets easily penetrated steel helmets, shattered shoulders, and tore spines.

The Britannian soldiers who were originally advancing cautiously instantly exploded in panic.

"It’s an Armored Knight! A Saxon Armored Knight!"

"Why didn’t they go look for our Armored Knights, why did they come here?!"

Some people looked up in terror, trying to raise their guns and return fire.

But at this distance, rifle bullets hitting the thick breastplate of the Armored Knight had no effect other than splashing a few sparks and making crisp "clinking" sounds.

On the contrary, Ludwig only needed to gently turn his body to blast those Britannian infantry who dared to resist into balls of blood mist.

"That guy Friedrich was right after all..."

Ludwig looked at those enemies screaming, rolling, and trying to flee but having no way out in the pools of blood below, a strange feeling rising in his heart.

In the past in the training camp of the Teutonic Knights, instructors always taught them that a knight’s glory lay in frontal duels and charging enemy lines.

Many times, if not to expand battle results, Armored Knights didn’t even want to attack those infantry who, in their eyes, were "unarmed."

But now...

Ludwig looked at those rows of falling enemies, looking at this rapidly cleared trench, only feeling that this attack efficiency was too high, right?!

What knightly spirit, what noble glory.

In this huge meat grinder, efficiency was the only truth.

"Unit 2, Unit 3, don’t space out!"

Through the external loudspeaker, Ludwig shouted to the other two constructs not far away: "Follow me! Don’t go down the pit! Just sweep from above! Plow these sections of the communication trench nearby for me!"

"Understood! Sir!"

The three steel giants maintained a certain distance, taking heavy steps, and slowly advanced along the direction of the three communication trenches.

The fire net woven by six heavy machine guns completely turned this attack passage originally belonging to the Britannians into a one-way street to hell.