Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 105 I Don't Want to Try Anymore.
Cecilia's smile remained unchanged, her grey-blue eyes quietly fixed on Morin, as if trying to see right through him.

"Fritz, that's not what you used to call me."

Her voice remained soft, yet carried an undeniable sense of closeness, easily dispelling Maureen's awkwardness.

Maureen felt her cheeks burning and didn't know how to answer for a moment.

Firstly, he did feel a sense of unease after leaving the battlefield.

Not having a pistol on your waist is like standing on the street before time travel and not being able to find your phone.

Secondly, he discovered that he was damn shy.
While Cecilia is undeniably a beauty, I feel a bit too ashamed of myself for doing this.

It's like how many people can be very eloquent online, but when they go to a comic convention and try to take a photo with a cosplayer, they don't know where to put their hands.

He scratched his head, feeling his cheeks burning, and stammered, "No, no, I just didn't react for a moment."

"Then just call me sister, the same as before."

Cecilia's tone was gentle, but with an air of authority that left no room for refusal. She reached out and naturally straightened Morin's slightly crooked collar.

The slightly cool touch on his fingertips made Morin stiffen for a moment. A faint scent of vetiver lingered in his nose, exactly the same as the smell in his memory.

"It's Sister Cecilia."

Morin responded quietly.

This is too embarrassing!

Cecilia's smile deepened as she watched his flustered state.

She didn't continue the topic, but instead sighed softly, her tone carrying a hint of resentment.

“I told General Mackensen long ago that you are the only son left in your family, and you should be transferred to a stable post in the rear.”

"But he didn't listen at all; instead, he took you directly to the front lines, specifically the front lines of the Kingdom of Aragon."

"Sometimes I really wonder if he and your grandfather were friends or enemies back then."

Hearing Cecilia begin to complain about General Mackensen, Maureen actually felt much less stressed.

He finally found a topic to continue the conversation.

"Sister Cecilia, the general was also doing this to train me, and..."

Morin paused for a moment, then decided to say something good about the old general.

"The battlefield is indeed the best place for soldiers to grow."

"Growth? Growth that comes at the cost of one's life?"

Cecilia's tone became a bit harsher.

“Fritz, you have no idea how worried I was when I heard the news of the fierce fighting in Seville. I prayed to God almost every day that you would be safe.”

Her voice carried a hint of lingering fear, which made Mo Lin's heart clench.

He could sense that this concern came from the heart, without any ulterior motives.

As the two talked about things on the battlefield, Morin found that his tense nerves gradually relaxed.

Although he still didn't dare to look directly into Cecilia's eyes, which seemed to see into people's hearts, he couldn't help but occasionally steal glances at this stunning beauty.

The white dress she wore today was simple in style, but it had delicate lace trim at the neckline and cuffs, which perfectly accentuated her fair neck and wrists.

Her long, honey-colored and platinum-colored hair was piled up at the back of her head, with a few strands falling loosely. And some other things swayed gently with the bumps of the carriage.

Morin frantically tried to recall how the original owner of this body had interacted with this noblewoman.

The emerging fragments of memory told him that the relationship between the two was indeed more like that of close siblings.

There was nothing out of the ordinary.

After losing his parents when he was young, Cecilia took care of him.

Furthermore, because he was completely dependent on Cecilia for his livelihood, Morin used to fawn over her and flatter her, afraid of upsetting her and running out of money.

Thinking of this, Morin secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Thankfully, this isn't some outrageous plot like in Korean movies such as "Mom's Best Friend."

As long as they maintain this sibling-like relationship, there shouldn't be any problems.
As the two men talked, the carriage passed through the town of Tswickau and eventually entered a secluded forest path.

Tall oak trees line both sides of the road, and the winter sun shines through the sparse branches and leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

After driving for about fifteen minutes, a manor came into Morin's view.

The manor's style is not ostentatious, lacking the luxurious feel of Baroque architecture.

Withered ivy climbs all over the gray stone walls, giving the whole manor a restrained and rustic feel.

The carriage passed through the ornate wrought iron gate and slowly came to a stop in front of a main building along the gravel driveway.

The car door was opened by a servant who was waiting nearby.

Morin got out of the car first, then awkwardly reached out to help Cecilia down.

Cecilia looked at his outstretched hand, paused for a moment, then smiled and gently placed her hand on his.

Her hands were very soft; that was the only thing Maureen noticed at that moment.

Morin felt his heart racing uncontrollably. After the other person got out of the car, he quickly withdrew his hand and casually straightened his military uniform.

"Let's get some rest here tonight."

Cecilia said to Morin as she walked up the steps.

"We'll take the train back to Dresden tomorrow afternoon."

Upon entering the manor, Morin witnessed firsthand what understated luxury truly meant.

The staff standing at the door to greet them was a sizable team of servants: butler, maids, cooks, and grooms, each performing their duties in an orderly manner.

A capable-looking head maid stepped forward, bowed to Cecilia, and then instructed a young maid to lead Morin to his room.

"Young Master Morin, please come with me."

The young maid bowed slightly, her voice soft and weak, as if she were a little nervous in front of Morin.

Morin nodded and followed her up the spiral staircase covered with a dark red carpet, then was led to a guest room on the second floor of the manor.

The room is large, but the furnishings are not complicated, yet every piece of furniture exudes a sense of refinement and sophistication.

In the center of the room was a huge four-poster bed with intricate patterns carved on its dark brown frame, and the soft down comforter looked so inviting that you'd want to lie down and roll around in it.

This is so much more comfortable than the hard, stiff boards of a cot.

The maid gave Morin a brief introduction to the room's facilities, such as how pulling the rope on the wall could summon servants, and that hot water was already prepared in the washroom.

After saying that, she bowed and left, gently closing the door behind her.

Maureen did not leave the room all afternoon.

He first walked around the room, then went to the window and subconsciously observed the surrounding environment of the manor, assessing the safety situation.

This has almost become a habit ingrained in his bones.

After completing the inspection and confirming that the manor was in a sufficiently remote location with high walls and patrolling guards, and that there should be no danger in the short term, he finally relaxed completely.

He sat down on the soft sofa, intending to take a short nap.

But as soon as I close my eyes, all I can see in my mind are those bloody scenes from the battlefield.

The sounds of gunfire, explosions, and soldiers' screams still seem to echo in my ears.

He suddenly opened his eyes and exhaled a long breath.

"Could it be real PTSD?"

It seems that returning to normal life from the battlefield will require an adjustment period. Morin stopped forcing himself to rest and began pacing around the room, contemplating what he might face next.

It wasn't until evening that a maid came to knock on the door and tell him that he could come downstairs for dinner.

Inside the restaurant, a lot of food was already laid out on the long tables.

A variety of breads, cold cuts of meat and sausages, and several different cheese and vegetable salads.

Cecilia had changed into a casual dark blue dress and was sitting in the main seat waiting for him.

Maureen sat down opposite her.

A maid came forward carrying a silver tray and gently placed a small jar of glistening caviar and a few slices of pink smoked salmon in front of Morin.

"Eat up, Fritz."

Cecilia smiled and gestured.

"Look at you, you've gotten so thin in the army."

Morin looked at the food in front of him, but hesitated to take a bite.

During his month or so in the Kingdom of Aragon, he had gotten used to eating dry, hard black bread and eating thick soup to satisfy his hunger.

Sometimes, being able to eat a hot pot of beef stew with potatoes is considered a treat.

He hadn't seen things like caviar and smoked salmon in a long time.

"Why don't you eat?"

Cecilia noticed that he hadn't touched his knife and fork for a while, and asked him curiously.

"Didn't you used to love these two things the most? Every time you came to my place, you'd eat a lot of them."

"Ah ha ha"

Morin chuckled and offered a casual explanation.

"The food in the army was too simple before, so seeing so much delicious food now is a bit of a shock."

He told the truth.

This stark contrast gave him a sense of unreality.

"Really?" A hint of heartache flashed in Cecilia's eyes. "It seems you've suffered a lot on the front lines."

She didn't press further, but simply said in a gentle tone, "Let's take it slow, have some bread and salad first."

"Ok."

Maureen picked up her knife and fork, somewhat awkwardly cut off a small piece of smoked salmon, and put it in her mouth.

The salty, savory, and smooth texture spread across his taste buds, giving him a feeling of being in another world.

During the meal, Maureen also discovered something different from his stereotypes.

In his understanding before he traveled through time, a 'main meal' in Western cuisine usually refers to dinner.

However, in the Saxon Empire, or rather among the aristocratic class in Europe, the most important meal of the day was actually lunch.

Lunch not only features a wide variety of dishes and complex etiquette, but also usually requires changing into formal attire.

It's common for a meal to last two or three hours, and this is also the main venue for socializing and family gatherings.

The reason is also very simple.

The main laborers in society, such as farmers and workers, need to work long hours during the day. Their lunches are often simple and quick so that they can replenish their energy as soon as possible to engage in the afternoon's work.

The aristocratic class, on the other hand, did not need to engage in physical labor, and they had plenty of leisure time.

Enjoying a lavish, multi-course lunch that lasts for hours is itself a display of status and leisure, a symbol of class distinction.
Dinner is relatively simple and casual, usually consisting of cold dishes and light meals.

The dinner ended in a quiet and elegant atmosphere.

Maureen and Cecilia chatted for a few more minutes in front of the fireplace in the living room.

The conversation consisted mainly of Morin's experiences at military school and on the battlefield, as well as some trivial news from recent domestic events.

Maureen tries her best to play the role of her 'past' self, telling stories that she has dug out from her memories.

Cecilia listened quietly, her grey-blue eyes fixed on Morin.

The two chatted until almost nine o'clock in the evening, when Morin was really too tired to stay awake any longer, so he got up, said goodbye, and went back to his room.
The train journey over several days had already taken a toll on my energy, and the tension I had developed on the battlefield had not yet allowed me to fully relax.

Back in his room, he took another hot shower and changed into the silk pajamas that the maid had prepared in advance.

As he sank into that incredibly soft bed, an unprecedented weariness washed over him.

When clothes come, I stretch out my hands, and when food comes, I open my mouth.

There's no need to think about how to fight the next battle, and no need to worry about bullets that might fly in at any moment.

This comfortable, almost decadent lifestyle suddenly sparked an idea in Maureen's mind—

Perhaps, being a good-for-nothing who just loafs around and waits to die isn't so bad?
He turned over and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Silent all night.

The next morning, it was barely dawn.

Molin was suddenly awakened from his sleep, and sat up abruptly in bed.

His right hand instinctively reached for the right side of the bed, where his pistol was usually kept.

"Klaus!"

He shouted out as was his habit.

Why hasn't the morning assembly whistle blown yet?

He was stunned after shouting.

What came into view was neither the familiar military tent nor Klaus's 'German' face.

Instead, there were carved bedposts and hazy curtains.

The air was filled with a faint scent of incense, not the smell of sweat or gunpowder.

Morin looked around and it took him several seconds to fully realize what was happening.

He was no longer on the battlefield of the Kingdom of Aragon, but at his estate in Tswickau.

He chuckled self-deprecatingly and glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

It's only a little past six o'clock.

In the military, the reveille would have already sounded by this time.

The soldiers in each platoon should also line up for morning exercises under the leadership of their platoon leaders.

He lay back down on the bed, trying to fall asleep again.

But no matter how much he tossed and turned, his mind became clearer and clearer, and he was no longer sleepy at all.

The biological clock he developed on the battlefield was like a stubborn brand, profoundly changing his lifestyle.
After realizing she couldn't fall asleep no matter what, Maureen simply gave up.

He got up and changed into the officer's uniform he had worn the day before.

The military regulations of the Saxon Empire allowed soldiers to wear service uniforms during leave, which was not only convenient but also regarded as a manifestation of military honor.

When Maureen opened the door and walked down the stairs, several maids who were cleaning in the lobby on the first floor stopped what they were doing in surprise.

They clearly hadn't expected the young master to get up so early.

(End of this chapter)