September 3rd, early morning.

The morning mist over the Creil region had not yet dissipated, clinging viscously and coldly to every inch of the muddy ground.

The Saxon assault yesterday afternoon had been repulsed once more. The surviving soldiers hastily retreated, and the command post halted the offensive, issuing no new attack orders.

Continuous assaults over several days had cost the First Army Group over twenty thousand lives on this trench line, which the Gauls had gone virtually 'All in' to defend.

The high morale of the First Army Group's initial assault units had been shattered. Although the First Army Group did manage to breach several trench lines after taking Amiens, the closer they got to the Paris urban area, the smaller the area the defenders had to cover.

This meant the firepower density on every section of the line increased, while the attacking Saxon forces were limited in the number of troops they could deploy simultaneously.

Although the First Army Group and the flanking Second Army Group had formed a semi-encirclement of Paris, relying on their numerical superiority, the offensive was stalled at this final defense line less than 40 kilometers from Paris.

The Gauls seemed unable to find any better terrain for constructing trenches between Creil and Paris. Furthermore, any further Saxon advance would bring their artillery and Armored Airships within range of the urban area.

Thus, this position had become the final defense line chosen by the newly appointed Commander of the Gallic Sixth Army Group and Commander of the Paris Defenses, Gallieni. If this line were breached, the Gauls would only be left with the choice of abandoning Paris or engaging in Street Fighting within the city.

The previous temporary trench lines and the determined defense by the Gallic soldiers had bought enough time for the final trench line to be relatively well-fortified.

Three interconnected Trenches, reinforced with Barbed Wire, blocked the crucial transportation route at Creil. Given this position was vital for river crossings and railway transport, the Saxons had to take this area to continue their advance toward Paris.

Initially, even General Mackensen believed that the First Army Group's breakthrough would be a matter of time. However, the hastily formed Sixth Army Group, combined with Gallic Republic Colonial Troops, exhibited terrifying fighting resilience on this 'final defense line.'

Coupled with the well-prepared trenches and Large Anti-Air Magic Guided Devices, the First Army Group, which had enjoyed smooth sailing since the war began, had slammed into an iron wall.

Private Erik of the 42nd Infantry Regiment, 6th Infantry Brigade, 3rd Infantry Division of the Saxon Empire Army, crouched in the corpse-stench-filled Trench, nervously awaiting the order to attack.

He had arrived at the Creil front line last night with the main force on foot. Unlike the Gallic countryside he had passed through earlier, Erik noticed the colors of the entire war zone were muted, dominated by shades of brown, gray, and black without distinct boundaries.

As a high school geography teacher before the war, he knew the Creil region was supposed to be slightly undulating, with hills and clumps of trees.

But now, the only remaining features were shell craters and Trenches. The small groves and high ground suitable for artillery positions had been almost entirely leveled.

His comrades, who enjoyed singing during the march, were now completely silent.

An officer leading the way had informed them that they were within range of the Gallic artillery and that a reinforcing unit had been hit by a massive barrage yesterday, suffering nearly twenty-five percent casualties.

Under the cover of darkness, the 3rd Infantry Division completed the handover with the battered and bloodied units currently in the Trenches.

Erik felt he would never forget his first entry into the Trenches. The narrow Communication Trenches leading to the front were packed with men.

He trudged through ankle-deep mud, occasionally tripping over wounded men lying on the ground. Cursing and groaning mixed in the column.

As Erik and his comrades passed through several long Communication Trenches and finally reached the Assault Trench at the front, the pungent smell of putrefaction and gunpowder smoke assaulted their nostrils.

After his company was assigned positions in the Trench by platoon, Erik found a relatively dry spot and sat down to rest.

He immediately felt something soft against his back. He reached back to push the object away, but his hand closed around another cold hand. Erik almost leaped up, scrambling to the opposite side of his seat, his hand instinctively grabbing his rifle.

Using the faint moonlight, he saw the hand protruding from the earthen wall of the Trench. When he nervously looked around, he realized that many corpses were embedded in the walls of this Trench. There were heads, hands, legs, and even half-torsos about to fall out of the wall.

His comrades quickly noticed the bodies built into the wall, and the commotion soon drew the attention of other soldiers.

Several Saxon officers came to inspect the situation. While their faces showed some slight emotion, they were mainly relieved it wasn't an enemy attack.

They looked at the corpses in the wall but said little, warning Erik and the others not to make loud noises at night, or they would attract Gallic artillery fire.

Subsequently, they called for some Fortification Troops. These soldiers, who were permanently stationed in the Trenches to repair and expand them, quickly took out their engineer spades and picks.

After a brief inspection, they carefully dug out the soil around the exposed body parts, pushed the corpses back into the wall, and then filled the surrounding area with excavated earth, reinforcing it with sandbags.

Watching Erik's bewildered expression, an older Fortification Troop said: "Don't be afraid. These are not enemies; they are your comrades."

"Comrades?" Erik's voice was filled with confusion.

"These bodies were once Fortification Troops. When we first arrived at Creil, we had to dig these Trenches under Gallic artillery fire with almost no cover."

"Many of our brothers died during that process. And the Gauls were constantly firing to stop us, even launching charges…"

"In that situation, we survivors couldn't properly bury them. We simply built the defenses around the bodies as we constructed the fortifications." The Fortification Troop's tone was flat, as if describing a routine chore.

But Erik and his comrades knew the hellish reality this implied. He couldn't imagine how the Fortification Troops had constructed this position under constant artillery fire.

Looking at the partially exposed corpses, Erik felt no fear, only a deep sense of sorrow and respect. In the Trench, the living soldiers stared back at the dead, separated by a thin layer of earth. It felt like the very boundary between life and death.

The time before the assault was agonizing. Erik, who had barely slept all night, could see many soldiers clutching their rifles and panting heavily. The extreme tension forced them to constantly take deep breaths, yet they still felt a strange sensation of being suffocated at any moment.

To distract themselves, a soldier soon brought up the other unit that had entered the Communication Trenches with them yesterday.

"Hey, did you see that unit that came in with us yesterday?"

"No, maybe they are in another trench section?"

"But their helmets were interesting. The spikes were gone."

Erik knew they were talking about the Instruction Assault Battalion, a unit shrouded in mystery and legend, credited with creating miracles in previous battles. But Erik's strongest impression of them was their spike-less helmets and the new weapons they carried.

Just as the soldiers said, this unit seemed to have vanished after entering the Trenches. Even in this period right before the offensive, the Instruction Assault Battalion soldiers were nowhere to be seen in the Assault Trench.

"Are they not attacking with us? Are they waiting for us to go first?" Erik wondered.

Just as the surrounding soldiers tried to ease their tension by discussing the mysterious unit and the rumored 'Roasted Pig Knuckle legends,' a dull sound of artillery fire continuously rumbled from the rear.

Everyone stopped talking, as if an invisible mute button had been pressed in the Trench. This was followed by the constant shriek of shells passing overhead and the thunderous impact of the shells landing on the enemy positions, shaking the earth.

Erik didn't know how many cannons were pouring fire onto the Gallic positions or how long the barrage lasted. He only knew that when silence returned, a strong hand pulled him up. Several NCOs from his platoon were walking along the Trench, pulling up soldiers, and shouting orders to prepare for the assault.

Soon, everyone was leaning over the parapet. Erik, his body trembling, saw his comrade and fellow townsman pull out the cross from his neck and kiss it. He was muttering something, seemingly his final prayer.

The battlefield returned to silence, and the smoke from the explosions drifted over them. As the acrid smell filled Erik's nostrils, the officers in the Trenches blew the charge whistles one after another.

Attack!!! Attack!!!

The roar of the Company Sergeant Major came through the Trench. Erik, like the other Saxon soldiers, was pushed out of the Trench by an invisible force following the sound of the whistle.

(End of this Chapter)

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