Steampunk Era: Mad Abield

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"I thought you were here to send a penal soldier." After the lad named Maiseer was assigned to the squad, Political Commissar Virit shook hands with Malin, "Welcome back to the North, Mr. Malin, your fame has already reached here lately."

"Perhaps that’s what they call ’a person’s shadow longer than their height’; I actually prefer to keep a low profile." Malin smiled as he shook hands, then saluted the middle-aged man who approached, "Major General Ataf Ivanovich Ivantaf."

"Quite a surprise that Mr. Malin still remembers my name." The evidently aged man laughed as he reached out for a handshake with Malin, "To be honest, as soon as I heard the messenger mention your name, I came over right away."

"I am here today to teach a rash young man a lesson. A child of his age doesn’t quite understand the difference between competition and the battlefield, so I decided it would be best for him to see the battlefield with his own eyes."

After shaking hands with the Major General, Malin then looked at him, "Could you give me an overview of the upcoming combat mission?"

Under Major General Ataf’s briefing, Malin heard some rather concerning news.

Recently, the friendly forces on the Northern defensive line have been facing onslaughts like a tide of Chaos, with divisions on the front line suffering heavy losses, including the 17th Infantry Division, among twelve divisions that had to cancel their leaves. They had just arrived at this forward base today and had received a mission—to march northward with their allies toward the frontline.

For Malin, the current front line sounded like a black hole; any division thrown into it was like flesh entering a mill.

But for any division of the Northern Legion, this was as routine as eating and drinking.