Battlefield Priest's Diary

Chapter 158 Nightmare
"Damn it! Who does he think he is?! How dare he talk to me like that!" A series of roars came from inside the carriage.

When Manstein stopped holding back and responded with the arrogance of an old Junker aristocrat, the sensitive nerves of this nominal "second-in-command" of the empire were stirred.

Although he came from a high-ranking official family, Göring did not enjoy the respect that a nobleman's children should have because his lineage was questioned when he was a child (he was suspected of having a dishonorable child after an affair).
In addition, his father had many children and was not well-off, so Göring's childhood was actually very difficult.

This made him feel "awkward" about his aristocratic status.

Until he reached adulthood, he was in a contradictory state of both despising the old aristocratic group and longing to be recognized by other nobles.

For decades, he relentlessly pursued higher rights and greater wealth, even bestowing upon himself the title of Renaissance "artist," which was partly an attempt to legitimize his identity.

To put it bluntly, it means that what we lacked in the past, we now frantically pursue.

The inability to gain the approval of the old aristocracy, represented by the Prussian officer corps, had always been a thorn in his side, and today Manstein delivered a powerful slap to the face of this German field marshal with his actions.

Adjutant Bruno Loze approached, trying to persuade "Marshal..."

"Imperial Marshal! Imperial Marshal! Fritz, have you forgotten your place?!" Fat Göring's emotions erupted again, completely forgetting that he had just said that the Führer's official appointment had not yet been issued.

"Yes, Your Excellency Marshal of the Empire..." Fritz had no choice but to lower his head and retreat, as saying anything at this point would be superfluous.

Hu~hu~hu~
Looking at the carriage door, the Imperial Marshal took deep breaths, feeling his entire being becoming abnormal.

"Fritz!"

"Your Excellency, I am here."

"Take everyone out. Also, call the nurse." Göring's voice sounded like it came from a cemetery.

"This..." The adjutant hesitated for a moment, but still forced a smile and advised, "Sir, Dr. Erich said that your body is not suitable for long-term use..."

"Enough, Fritz!" Göring snapped at his subordinate. "Since when have soldiers of the German Empire started questioning orders from their superiors time and time again?"

The accusation of questioning the order was too much for the adjutant to bear. He could only bow slightly and say, "Yes, sir, I'll go right away."

Soon after, all the guards left, and a personal nurse came into the room to inject a liquid into Göring's vein, while Göring closed his eyes.

As the liquid entered his blood vessels, a tingling sensation appeared in his neck, then flowed down his spine, giving the marshal a comfortable feeling as if he were in a hot spring. His muscles began to relax, his whole body relaxed, and his consciousness began to soar to the clouds.

A surge of dopamine erupted in his brain, and Goring felt every cell in his body become pleasurable. His breathing slowed, and he began to enjoy everything before him.

The anger from the recent offense, the threats from his political enemies, and the fear of being abandoned by the head of state all vanished in that moment.

Ten years ago, Goring had become severely dependent on a combination of morphine and cocaine. Now, whenever he was unable to control his emotions, a close encounter with dopamine had become the marshal's only option.

The effects of the potion began to intensify, and his remaining rationality told him that there were still things to do.

He ordered the nurse, "Get out! No one is allowed in for the next two hours!"

The nurse left in a panic, and when the door closed, Goring was left alone in the room. He tried to stand up, but fell back down twice.

On his third attempt, Göring finally succeeded. With hazy vision, he opened the other side of the carriage door and walked toward the carriage containing the artwork.

This is his personal habit: to appreciate looted artworks when he is in a state of high spiritual pleasure, which can inspire him with unexpected "inspiration".

when! !

Something rolled onto the floor; it was something that Manstein had just put back on the table.

"Hehehe, will you have nightmares if you carry something like this?" Goring kicked the thing on the ground away and swayed as he walked towards the back of the carriage.

Opening the door to the carriage where the artworks were stored, Göring walked in as if drunk, the smell of pine planks stimulating his nostrils and making him even more excited.

He pried open the lid of the wooden box with his hands, trying to pull out the artwork inside.

The next moment, Göring was stunned.

He saw a little girl squatting there with her knees drawn up to her chest, her big eyes staring at him.

Boom! ! !
A heavy thud sounded, and the Imperial Marshal fell straight to the ground. "What should I do, sir? I think I've gotten myself into trouble." The caretaker emerged from behind the wooden crate, holding a pine stick.

Qin Hao stood up from the other side and saw the fat man lying on the ground, a troubled look on his face.

"Sir, who is this person? I see he's wearing a high-ranking military uniform." The female administrator leaned closer, looking at the large lump on the ground.

"Göring, a big problem." Qin Hao shook his head and bent down to check on the other party's condition.

"Sir, should we..." Upon seeing the uniform of the high-ranking officer, the female administrator drew a small pistol from behind her back, a rare murderous glint appearing on her fair face.

Qin Hao raised his hand to stop the other party, "If we kill him, none of us will be able to leave."

“But he saw Anna,” Miss de Gaulle said worriedly.

“It’s a bit troublesome…” Qin Hao flipped the other person over and checked him over. Suddenly, he noticed a needle mark on the fat man’s arm that hadn’t closed yet.

"So this guy just now...maybe there's still a chance."

Qin Hao helped the fat man in front of him to sit up, took out tools from the box, and pulled the female administrator up with one hand.

"Come help, we need to hurry."

"Wh-what?" Miss de Gaulle asked, puzzled.

"Don't ask anymore, just listen to me."
-
Time passed, and the Imperial Marshal lying on the ground stirred slightly. His eyes opened unfocused as he looked around in confusion.

The room seemed dimmer than before; the furnishings that were once clearly visible were now blurry, and there was an indescribable smell in the air.

Crack! Crack! A sound of wood splitting rang out, as if something was about to emerge from the shadows.

What happened? I clearly remembered just now… Goring rubbed his head, which had become dull, and tried hard to recall.

Oh, right! That girl, she…

The next second, before Goring could even process what was happening, a girl's shadow flashed past at the end of the carriage. Through his blurry vision, Goring seemed to notice that she had a pair of black wings. The girl's eyes were only glanced at briefly, but Goring clearly saw that there was absolutely no emotion in them.

She looked down at him as if he were an ant, then disappeared at the end of the passage.

what! ! !
The fat marshal cried out in surprise and jumped up.

But they found that the boxes around them were covered with a liquid that looked like blood, some of which was already slowly flowing on the ground.

"My, my painting!" Goering opened a wooden box and pulled out one of his favorite works, but only a third of the painting remained. The rest looked like melted blood clots, with bright red liquid dripping down.

Looking around, the boxes throughout the room were seeping blood, as if they were crying.

Humhhhhhh! ! !
Göring stumbled back a few steps, the morphine in his body preventing him from maintaining his balance, causing him to fall to the ground again.

The blood-red marks on the ground, twisted and contorted, were clearly German words.

Kurt von Schleicher, Viktor Luzer, Ernst Röhm…

Those were clearly the high-ranking officers and government officials he had helped kill during the Night of the Long Knives.

Why is this happening? !
Nobody knows these things except the Führer and Himmler!
"No, don't come here!"

Goring retreated toward the car door in terror, while a figure in uniform appeared and disappeared in the darkness, a figure that clearly bore a seven-tenths resemblance to Rom from back then.

Perhaps his heart could no longer withstand the pressure, Goering's eyes rolled back and he fainted again.

Before losing consciousness, Göring recalled what Manstein had said earlier.

"Taking that person's things without permission will give you nightmares."

(End of this chapter)