Trench Bolts and Magic

Chapter 19 A Language Genius?

Morin and his group of six rode their bicycles and quickly left the area of ​​San Isidro village.

The aftertaste of that energy drink still lingered in his mouth, bitter with a burnt smell, making him want to stick out his tongue every now and then.

He had never tasted such terrible coffee before.
The country road was bumpy and uneven, and the wheels crunched over gravel and clods of dirt. As Morin rode, he kept some of his attention focused on the small map in the upper left corner of his field of vision.

Perhaps because he saw the information on the battalion's military map, Morin also updated the map information in his own 'system map'.

The area leading up to Seville is now visible, though it is still shrouded in a semi-transparent fog of war.

As they advanced, the fog of war that symbolized the unknown path ahead slowly receded outwards from them, revealing clearer details of the terrain.

It felt amazing, like playing a real-time strategy game and personally controlling a scout unit to explore the map.

"Don't just focus on getting there!" Morin whispered to the people behind him, "Keep an eye on the woods and high places on both sides of the road, and tell me immediately if anything seems amiss!"

“Yes, sir!” Corporal Bowman responded immediately.

The others also looked up, scanning their surroundings warily.

They assumed it was just a routine order from the platoon leader out of caution, unaware that each of their eyes was providing Morin with valuable information and updating the minimap.

In the previous battles, Morin had already roughly discovered how the 'system map' updates information.

That means all units that appear in the friendly forces' field of vision will be displayed on the map, regardless of whether the friendly forces themselves have noticed them or recognize them.

As you can see, the system map is indeed quite well done in terms of 'cheating' features.
Morin and his group's first destination was the next village marked on the map, called Alcoria.

Morin's plan was to first scout out the outskirts of the village, and if it was safe, go in to check the situation and also let the hastily assembled reconnaissance team get used to each other.

Then, depending on the situation, we can scout ahead towards Seville.

Perhaps we were lucky, the journey was smooth sailing, and we didn't encounter a single ghost.

When they were about 200 meters away from the village of Alcorea, Morin raised his hand and made a gesture, and everyone immediately understood and slowed down and stopped.

"Get off the vehicle, push it along, and find a place to hide."

They pushed their bicycles into a dense grove of trees by the roadside, carefully laid them down behind the bushes, and then used some branches and fallen leaves for simple camouflage.

“Remember this location,” Morin pointed to a dead tree not far away that looked like it had been struck by lightning, “We’ll have to retreat here later!”

He unscrewed the water bottle, took a sip, and gestured for the others to also quickly replenish their fluids.

After a short rest, the six men, rifles in hand, formed a loose formation and began to make their way towards the village.

Morin walked at the front, his eyes darting back and forth between the village entrance and the surrounding houses, his finger habitually resting on the trigger guard.

He glanced back and saw that Corporal Bowman and several other soldiers had their index fingers on the triggers, ready to fire at any moment.

His heart tightened immediately, and he quickly made a gesture to make everyone stop.

"Take your fingers off the triggers and put them on the guards! Remember that!"

He said sternly in a low voice, "I don't want some bastard to slip and accidentally shoot me in the butt! Or expose us all!"

Hearing Morin's words, the soldiers, though somewhat unaccustomed to it, immediately complied.

The group crept into the village cautiously, hiding in the shadows of the earthen walls.

Surprisingly, the village was peaceful.

Several children were chasing and playing on the dirt road. Not far away, by the well, women were washing clothes and chatting. You could even see several elderly people sitting at their doorsteps, lazily basking in the sun.

There was no trace of the shadow of war here; it was as if they had stumbled into a secluded paradise.

This unusual calm heightened Morin's vigilance to its highest level.

He decided to ask a villager about the situation, which falls under the category of 'civil investigation' in the investigation field.

Morin gave Corporal Bowman a wink, and the latter understood, stepping forward to stop an old farmer who was passing by carrying a hoe.

Surprisingly, the old farmer, aside from some surprise, did not seem alarmed when he saw these soldiers with guns.

Corporal Bauman pointed in the direction of Seville, made a few gestures, and uttered a few words that were not in Saxony.

The old farmer looked at the tall foreign soldier with a blank and confused expression, muttering something in another language while waving his hands repeatedly.

“Sir, he doesn’t understand what I’m saying in Aragon.” Corporal Bowman turned around helplessly.

Are you sure you're speaking Aragon?

"."

Morin frowned and looked at the others. They all shook their heads, indicating that apart from a few officers in the platoon who knew some basic conversation, none of them, the ordinary soldiers, spoke Aragonese.

This is trouble.

Just as Morin was about to give up and decide to take a walk around the village to see if there were any other clues, the old farmer said a long string of words to him.

Something strange happened.

This time, the rapid and unfamiliar syllables spoken by the old farmer seemed to be automatically translated the moment they entered Morin's ears, and he completely understood what the other person meant.

"If you're looking for those soldiers in black, they've been gone for quite some time now."

Maureen was stunned.

He instinctively opened his mouth, and a fluent Aragonese phrase flowed from it.

"Fellow villager, do you mean there were those soldiers in black clothes in the village before?"

As soon as he said it, not only was the old farmer opposite him stunned, but Morin himself was also stunned, and even Corporal Bowman and the others behind him widened their eyes.

"Hey, Lieutenant, you can speak Aragon, can't you?"

Immediately afterwards, a jumble of fragmented memories flooded into his mind.

It was in Dresden, the capital of the Saxon Empire, in a brightly lit banquet hall. The original owner of this body was holding a wine glass and flirting with an Aragonese noblewoman who had come to Saxony to study, speaking fluent Aragonese.
In an art salon, he discussed his latest paintings with a painter's wife in Gaul;

There was even a holiday in Vienna where he used broken but enough local language to flirt with the maids;

It turns out that the original owner of this body was the one whom General Mackensen described as 'a spineless fellow soaked in alcohol'.

In order to hunt for women at high-society parties and salons in various countries during peacetime, he actually worked hard to learn so many foreign languages.

For that playboy, language was not knowledge, but a key to different kinds of charm and romance.

"Damn, this is a real talent!"

Mo Lin silently gave the original owner a thumbs up in his heart.

Although the motives are impure, this skill is practically divine right now.

"You can speak our language?"

The old farmer was somewhat surprised to hear the fluent Aragonese.

"know a little."

Morin composed himself and continued asking in Aragon:

"So do you know how many of those soldiers in black there were, and which direction they went?"

"About an hour ago, several hundred people went through the east end of the village, making a ruckus, and they even stole several chickens from the village!"

The old farmer raised his wrinkled hand and pointed in the direction of Seville: "They went that way."

Having obtained the crucial information, Morin kindly asked a few more questions about the village and the surrounding terrain.

The old farmer answered them all.

Finally, Morin had Corporal Bowman hand over a half-eaten loaf of black bread and put it in the old farmer's hand.

"Sorry to bother you, fellow villager."

After saying that, he led his men and quickly left the village.

Back at the car hideout in the woods, Corporal Bowman could no longer contain himself, and of course, it wasn't about the bread.
He leaned closer, his face full of admiration.

"Sir, you can speak Aragon? Good heavens, how did you learn it?"

Mo Lin couldn't very well say he learned it to pick up girls, so he cleared his throat and put on a mysterious air.

"I know a little bit, it's just a required course at military academy."

He made up a random sentence, then immediately changed the subject, his expression turning serious.

"The situation has changed. A force of several hundred Royal Army soldiers left here an hour ago and headed towards Seville."

Morin spread out a simple map and pointed to a spot on it.

"But it's unclear whether they've returned directly to Seville or are planning an ambush on the outskirts, so we need to scout further ahead."

(End of this chapter)