Landing, bending his knees to cushion the impact.

Before the two Britannian soldiers around him could react to how this Saxon officer survived, the double-barreled shotgun in Morin’s hand was already pointed at their faces.

"Boom! Boom!"

Two explosive sounds almost overlapped.

At this point-blank distance, 12-gauge buckshot simply didn’t need to consider the issue of spread.

The nine lead pellets were still tightly clumped together the instant they left the muzzle, carrying massive kinetic energy directly into the chests of those two soldiers.

Without any suspense, their bodies were like being hit head-on by a battering ram. Before they could even let out a scream, they flew backward, their uniform chests shredded, revealing the bloody pulp beneath.

The visual impact at this close range made the several Britannian soldiers behind them who originally prepared to charge up freeze in their tracks. 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝘦𝓌𝑒𝑏𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝘭.𝒸𝘰𝑚

And in this instant of opening, the movements of Morin’s hands were so fast they left afterimages.

His left hand fiercely pressed the barrel release lever, and his right hand swung down with the momentum.

"Crack."

The gun body broke open from the middle, and two still-smoking red shell casings flew backward under the action of the ejector.

While the shell casings were still in the air, a translucent hand emitting a faint blue glow had, at some unknown point, already grabbed two brass-based shells from the ammunition pouch on Morin’s chest.

That was [Mage Hand].

This cantrip, usually used by mage apprentices to fetch books or pass tea, had also been developed into a new use by Morin—the inspiration came from a certain "field fighting" game.

The hand formed of blue magic precisely and swiftly stuffed the two slugs into the chambers almost at the same time the shell casings were ejected. Using the inertia, Morin jerked his wrist up.

"Click!"

The barrel locked.

The whole process took less than a second, so fast it seemed like he was performing some kind of magic trick.

And ahead of him, two Coldstream Guards veterans who reacted slightly faster roared, holding Enfield rifles with fixed bayonets, intending to charge up taking advantage of the moment Morin reloaded.

But the problem was that Morin’s reload speed was obviously much faster than they expected.

"Boom! Boom!"

Two more deafening roars.

This time, Morin loaded slugs used for hunting large beasts.

These heavy lead bullets, originally designed to penetrate the thick hide of wild boars or the skulls of bears, were simply a disaster when hitting a human body.

The entire shoulder and arm of the soldier on the left directly disappeared; the huge cavity effect tore half his torso to shreds. And the one on the right was hit in the abdomen by the slug, the terrifying large hole almost breaking him in half.

The two didn’t even let out a grunt, collapsing limply to the ground instantly like marionettes with cut strings.

"Damage overflow..."

Morin glanced at the two gruesome corpses, his brow furrowing slightly.

Although slugs had extremely high kinetic energy at close range, using them against these light infantry wearing only ordinary uniforms in this kind of trench melee was truly somewhat of a waste.

This kind of ammunition should be saved for those "elite monsters" with higher threats.

As his thoughts flashed, Morin broke open the barrel again.

This time, the blue Mage Hand floating in front of his chest very obediently picked up two red buckshot shells.

The step of taking ammunition from the pouch was carried out simultaneously through the cantrip Mage Hand.

So Morin’s rate of fire using a double-barreled shotgun was directly a chunk faster than a normal person’s, basically equivalent to the rate of fire of a pump-action shotgun, and relying on the bandolier, the ammunition capacity was also much higher.

The power of a "scattergun" in trench warfare had gained the "recognition" of the German army in WWI in the world before Morin’s transmigration.

And buckshot wasn’t like in video games where it only had lethality at close range.

In fact, within 50 meters was entirely the "comfortable engagement range" for early buckshot; taking a hit from buckshot at this distance could be said to result in death or severe injury. So when American recruits wielded pump-action shotguns to massacre everywhere in the trenches, the German army at that time directly demanded the other side ban the use of this inhumane weapon...

And now, Morin was letting the opposing Britannians experience the effect of the scattergun in advance.

"Where are the others! Stop watching the show over there! Follow me!"

Morin loudly scolded the four plate armor guards behind him who were still dazing out, while holding the shotgun and continuing to advance.

At this time, the expressions under the visors of Moritz and the other three guard members could simply be described as horrified.

Was this person executing such decisive attacks really the same Lieutenant Colonel Morin who was playing football with the Britannians just a few days ago? But who could have thought that once he took action, this commander was more ferocious than them, modified warriors specially enhanced physically?

"Bang!"

An enemy attempting to poke his head out to shoot from the corner had his head blown to pieces by a single shot.

"Crack—Click."

The reloading sound was like the Grim Reaper’s death knell.

"Bang!"

Three unlucky guys huddled together wanting to throw grenades were swept down by this spreading buckshot, wailing in the muddy water clutching their thighs and stomachs full of bloody holes.

Morin was like a tireless killing machine. The blue Mage Hand danced busily in front of his chest, continuously loading new ammunition into the chambers.

Those Britannian soldiers completely collapsed.

Their courage seemed so pale and powerless in the face of this monster that simply couldn’t be killed, and could blast a person to pieces with a single shot. Rifle bullets hitting him only made clinking sounds and flashes of blue light, while that seemingly decorative shotgun in his hand took at least one life every time it spewed flames.

Fear spread like a plague in the narrow trench.

"Devil... he’s a devil!"

"Run! Run!"

The defense line that was originally attempting to resist collapsed instantly. The remaining soldiers threw away their weapons, and some even tried to climb out of the trench on all fours and flee to the rear.

But Morin didn’t stop his steps.

Until all the buckshot on his chest rig bandolier was emptied, there wasn’t a single enemy still able to stand in this section of the trench ahead, other than corpses covering the ground and still-twitching wounded.

Moritz and the others following behind didn’t even fire their guns much.

The only thing they did was step over the corpses with those heavy plate armor boots, and then "finish them off" to prevent anyone from playing dead.

"Phew..."

Morin exhaled a breath of turbid air carrying the smell of gunpowder smoke, slung that double-barreled shotgun with a hot barrel behind his back, and conveniently picked up that MP14 submachine gun temporarily placed under his armpit.

Although the scattergun was indeed easy to use, entering the more complex communication trench network next, the submachine gun had a higher fault tolerance. Just then, Morin, who was regrouping with the catching-up instruction unit infantry company, suddenly caught a hint of strangeness in the corner of his eye. In a half-collapsed foxhole ahead of this firing trench, a Britannian officer with half his body blasted to pieces was trembling as he raised an arm.

In his hand, he held a flare gun.

"Bang!"

Before the people around could stop him, this officer had already used his last breath to pull the trigger toward the sky.

A flare trailing a tail of flame rose into mid-air.

However, after this flare exploded, the conventional red, green, or white light did not appear.

Replacing it was a cluster of faint blue magitech radiance.

That light condensed into a complex symbol in the grayish sky, not dispersing for a long time, and was even continuously emitting some kind of magical fluctuation outward. "Artillery guidance for Magic Crystal Cannons?!"

Morin’s first reaction was this.

"Everyone! Find cover! Get into the foxholes! Quick!"

Morin roared, grabbing a soldier beside him and shoving him into the nearest reinforced bunker.

The surrounding instruction unit soldiers also scattered with well-trained efficiency, clinging closely to the trench walls or diving into cat holes, waiting for the impending devastating strike. However, a few seconds passed...

A dozen seconds passed.

The anticipated whistling sound of artillery shells tearing through the air did not arrive.

Other than the distant sounds of gunfire and artillery on the battlefield, the area directly overhead was surprisingly quiet.

"What’s going on? A dud?" Moritz crouched beside Morin, looking up at the sky in confusion through the observation slit of his visor.

Morin frowned, staring at that blue eye symbol still slowly dissipating, a strong sense of unease rising in his heart.

Something’s wrong...

The quality of the Britannians’ artillery at this point in time could only be described as average at best.

So it was indeed impossible for them to carry out a precise strike immediately upon seeing a flare, let alone in an area where both sides were engaged in a melee. Moreover, that symbol... an ordinary military flare simply couldn’t produce this effect; that magical fluctuation was too obvious, like some kind of mark...

Meanwhile, in the second wave of attacking echelons of the Britannian Expeditionary Force, a squad that looked completely out of place with other units was temporarily staying in a reinforced observation post in the trench.

These dozen or so people were not wearing the iconic khaki uniforms of the Britannian infantry, but were half in robes and half in heavy armor.

And what was even more bizarre was that, except for a few people in heavy armor carrying traditional cold weapons, everyone else was carrying rifles with fixed bayonets.

A middle-aged man in a robe leading the group slowly lowered the monocular in his hand, his line of sight passing through the chaotic battlefield, firmly locking onto that cluster of blue signal light mist in the distance.

"Finally found him."

The corners of the middle-aged man’s mouth turned up slightly, revealing a smile devoid of any warmth.

He turned around, looked at his subordinates behind him who were as silent as sculptures, and said slowly:

"It seems there was no problem with the intelligence this time. That ’Lieutenant Colonel Morin’ indeed appeared in this section of the trench. The hunting opportunity we’ve waited so long for has finally arrived!"

Hearing his words, the other squad members in robes also took down the rifles from their backs, pulled the bolts to chamber a round, and then placed some spell scrolls in handy positions inside their robes.

"Just like in our previous training, first confirm the target is correct, then divide into groups and launch the attack... Although the opponent is an Abjuration spellcaster, his spell slots are limited after all."

"As long as we exhaust his spell slots through attacks and spells, the battle will be over!"