Steampunk Era: Mad Abield
Chapter 995: Section 645: Observations in the East (1)_2

Chapter 995: Section 645: Observations in the East (1)_2

Malin and the white-haired old company commander of the ragged platoon laughed so hard they were gasping for breath.

"Your Excellency! And old Kay! What are you laughing at!" The teenage boy widened his eyes.

"No, Kasdoff, listen, having courage and perseverance is a good thing, but think about it: standing in front of me, do you really believe you can protect a Legendary?"

The old white-haired one was going too far.

"But, but..." The young man wasn’t stupid. But he was burdened by the responsibility pressing on his shoulders, so Malin had no choice but to command him as a Marshal: "I, Farole, Marshal of the Eastern and Northern Kingdoms, order you, young man, that during combat, you must stand behind me, not in front of me or at my sides blocking me from cutting down Chaos. Do you understand?"

Looking at the two Marshal’s staffs Malin pulled out, the teenage boy finally had no choice but to accept this new order.

"Good lad. Old Kay, you keep a close eye on your young master and don’t let him run between me and Chaos, in case I accidentally blow him sky-high."

"No problem, Your Excellency Marshal!" The old white-haired man, despite his age, was shrewd and slippery, impossible to pin down. With Malin’s order, he immediately restrained Kasdoff, making him follow behind him, and he unceremoniously took the place of his young master, escorting Malin and Mr. Meng as they moved along the frontlines.

The arrangement of various positions was not bad. While there were few machine guns, they were stationed on small hilltops and connected by trenches. According to reports, the Chaos holding firearms were said to be excellent marksmen, and they also had long-range explosive weapons. If a machine gun team fired from one spot for too long, it would soon become the target of their attacks.

Thus, the Eastern Kingdom’s machine gun teams usually consisted of two or three crews defending a specific trench section, with multiple fallback positions and readiness to relocate at any time—these were hard-earned lessons drenched in blood. In the beginning, the fixed machine gun teams and their positions had already been wiped out.

Grenades or rockets? The soldiers and junior officers couldn’t say for sure, so Malin decided to find an opportunity to observe with his own eyes. According to the frontline soldiers, Chaos now showed up every day like clockwork, especially in the afternoon.

Thus, Malin took his lunch at the frontlines. When the commander of this sector learned of Malin’s request, relayed by Kasdoff—the lucky errand-runner—he was utterly dumbfounded. The Eastern Kingdom might have taken pride in claiming they fed their troops better than the Northerners, but with so many mouths to feed, the soldiers were now eating bread mixed with wood scraps. At least the logistics officers hadn’t dared to include pebbles in the bread; after all, Malin had made a massive scandal in the Northern Kingdom over such an issue, having several Nobles and their entire families hanged.

When Malin heard this news, he reflected to himself—what? When did I ever hang that many Nobles and their entire families, including newborn infants, over this matter?

How amusing, I had no idea.

Then thinking it over, he shrugged it off, recognizing this as the legendary "export reprocessing," a rumor that had traveled from the Northern Kingdom to the Eastern Kingdom. Having been embellished countless times along the way, it had transformed into its current version.

So Malin grit his teeth and accepted it—for now, it served as a justification to improve the soldiers’ meals, and he was willing to shoulder the blame for the greater good.

However, he still corrected the details about the infants—given Malin’s reputation for fondness toward children, the commander and his subordinates quickly acknowledged that rumors were not wholly reliable.

Lunch was served in shifts around noon, and officers ate last. They dined in the most open area of the trenches to let the soldiers see what they were eating. This was a personal habit of the Viscount with Malin’s approval; according to him, allowing soldiers to see their officers eating the same food helped prevent resentment over poor treatment from festering.

Malin greatly admired the Viscount’s behavior and also confirmed that this middle-aged man was among the few commanders in the past half-year who hadn’t been shot in the back by his own men.

On the contrary, the frontline under this Viscount’s responsibility had always been seen by the military as an unbreachable stronghold.

Malin understood the reasons behind this Viscount’s actions. According to Kasdoff, soldiers had long since consumed everything edible on the battlefield, except for the rats—those grotesque vermin, fattened on god-knows-what flesh, were only killed and burned.

If the higher-ranking Nobles ate well while soldiers starved, the latter’s anger would rapidly intensify. Eventually, such prolonged fury and resentment might cause some soldiers to mutate or turn their weapons against the hateful commander in a fit of rage.

So, as Malin softened a piece of bread by soaking it in hot water to make do, the Viscount commander, reportedly tough and stoic, was moved to tears.

"You old chap, you’ve seen some years, haven’t you? How can you still cry like this?" Malin chuckled, pulling out a cigarette case and offering him one.

"You’re a Marshal, Your Excellency, and a Legendary figure. You shouldn’t be eating this stuff!" The man said, then took the cigarette, sniffed it, and carefully placed it into his empty cigarette case with utmost reverence.

"What are you saving the cigarette for?" Malin asked.

"Whichever unit performs best in battle that day gets a cigarette as a reward. I’m out today and only get new supplies tomorrow." The Viscount said, smiling awkwardly. "This morning, my craving got the better of me, and I smoked one."

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