On the afternoon that Austro-Hungarian diplomatic personnel left Belgrade, Morin, accompanied by Manstein, left the busy War Office building and walked down the steps in front of it.
Over the past few days, he had made several trips to the War Office and even one to the General Staff Headquarters, dealing with various administrative and documentation issues related to the Teaching Assault Battalion.
After finishing this month's work concerning personnel matters, soldiers' pay, promotion assessments, and other tasks, Morin felt completely refreshed.
"Sir, you look quite happy," Manstein said, smiling at the suddenly 'invigorated' Morin.
"Honestly, I'd rather charge a fortress than sit at a desk handling paperwork. The administrative process at the War Office is too cumbersome. One issue with the formatting could send the entire thing back six times."
Morin shook his head. If not for the serious officers passing by, he would have jumped for joy.
Fortunately, both Manstein and Kleist were quite proficient in this area, and they had been a tremendous help to Morin recently.
And while clerical work was boring, the benefit was that the red dots on the [Intelligence] tab had not been cleared at all these past few days.
Although he hadn't received a 'beginner's guide,' Morin now generally understood how the [Intelligence] feature operated.
Essentially, when Morin heard a piece of information deemed valuable, the golden finger would automatically verify its authenticity, and depending on the situation, display the true intelligence or display more detailed information.
For example, while Morin was commuting to and from the War Office and the General Staff, any conversation he overheard—even seemingly trivial gossip—could potentially be converted into [Intelligence].
One piece of information that surprised Morin was how incredibly laid-back Emperor Albert II of Saxony was.
According to [Intelligence], after meeting with the Austro-Hungarian Foreign Minister on July 5th, he left the Dresden Palace again on the 6th, commencing his annual planned cruise of the North Sea.
The reason was that everyone, including Moltke the Younger, Falkenhayn, and Bethmann Hollweg, had assured him it would be a swiftly concluded conflict that would not spread across Europa.
Furthermore, according to sources in the General Staff, Chief of Staff Moltke the Younger had been convalescing outside Dresden for the first half of July.
War Minister Falkenhayn began a two-week vacation after a short official trip.
In other words, all critical decisions for the entire Empire were temporarily dictated by Imperial Chancellor Bethmann Hollweg during this period.
Hmm, the big shots are all about relaxation.
Morin realized that the two leading figures of the Imperial Army were clearly unaware that a world war was about to break out, and had avoided participating in any decision-making during this critical period.
Among the information that had refreshed on the [Intelligence] tab, the only military-related entry for the Saxon Empire was a single line from the General Staff's 'recommendation for the Western Intelligence Station to slightly increase vigilance while monitoring the Gallic Republic's activities.'
All major European nations received a copy of the ultimatum that the Austro-Hungarian Empire had sent to the Kingdom of Serbia the day before on July 24th.
The reactions of the nations ranged from concern to indignation—except for the Saxon Empire.
During this period, Morin was astonished by the military and high command's slow reaction.
Not only had the Teaching Assault Battalion not received any heightened readiness orders, but the entire Army showed no major movement—including the Teutonic Knight Order. Ludwig had even sought out Morin twice during his leave.
As someone who was now firmly on the Saxon side, Morin was genuinely worried.
Surrounding nations were already making moves, yet the Saxon Empire remained calm, apparently believing the Austro-Hungarian Empire would resolve the conflict quickly as expected.
Fortunately, upon arriving at the War Office again today, Morin learned from a few officers he was now acquainted with that War Minister Falkenhayn and Chief of Staff Moltke the Younger had returned to their posts and had immediately held a meeting.
As Morin and Manstein walked down the final steps outside the War Office building, the [Intelligence] tab began to update again.
[Kingdom of Serbia Refuses to Accept Austro-Hungarian Empire's Ultimatum]
[Austro-Hungarian Empire and Kingdom of Serbia Announce Severance of Diplomatic Relations]
[Emperor Franz Joseph of the Austro-Hungarian Empire Orders Army Mobilization to Begin on July 28th]
[Saxon Imperial Military Intelligence Agency Dispatches 'Crisis Travelers' to Border Regions]
After reading these messages, Morin stopped. The last shred of hope he held was extinguished.
What was meant to come, had finally come.
He turned to Manstein. The man who would become a Field Marshal in another timeline was now just a young Operations Staff Officer, holding a stack of recently approved documents.
"Manstein…" Morin began.
"Yes, sir? What are your orders?" the latter immediately responded.
"Let's change into civilian clothes when we get back to the garrison, and then we'll take a stroll downtown."
Manstein was puzzled. Having served as Morin's driver these past few days, he had no objection, but he was curious.
"Sir, do you intend to…?"
"I feel something major is about to happen." Morin offered no further explanation, just patted his shoulder. "Let's go see the reaction of the citizens. It won't hurt us."
"Do you need to bring a few Guard Corps soldiers for security?"
"No, no. I have prepared a full load of Mage Armor and Shield spells today. Don't worry. Bringing guards would attract too much attention."
Manstein did not fully understand but nodded nonetheless.
As a professional soldier, he could sense something unusual in the tension that permeated the air lately.
Austro-Hungarian Empire, Vienna.
After waiting for 48 hours and receiving multiple false reports claiming the Kingdom of Serbia would accept the ultimatum.
At 7:45 PM, the 'disappointing' reply finally reached Vienna.
Hours earlier, the major squares, newsstands, coffee houses, and beer gardens of Vienna were already packed with people.
In this era before television and civilian radio broadcasting, the best way for the populace to get news was to go out and inquire themselves.
Tens of thousands of people gathered outside the Ministry of National Defence in Vienna. When the Ministry officially confirmed the news of the Kingdom of Serbia's refusal of the ultimatum, a highly contagious wave of patriotic fervor swept over the entire square.
People cheered for the Habsburg Monarchy, for Austria, and for the Army.
They cheered for the 'punitive war' that was now inevitable.
Fervent patriotic melodies began to resonate through the Vienna night. Classic tunes like The Watch on the Rhine and Hoch der Kaiser were spontaneously sung by the crowds.
The most fitting song among them was Prince Eugene, the Noble Knight—an old Austrian song about the Siege of Belgrade in 1717, which perfectly matched the people's anticipation for the coming war.
"Prince Eugene, the noble knight, will fight bravely with the Serbians!"
"He will build a bridge, and we will cross it."
"Belgrade will fall to us!"
"…"
As the fervor reached its peak, a student climbed onto the pedestal of the Radetzky Monument and delivered a public speech, urging the assembled crowds to offer their wealth and blood for the Emperor and the Fatherland.
Following this, someone unfurled a black and gold Imperial flag. Thousands of citizens cheered and began marching down the Ringstrasse, following the flag.
An elderly coffee house owner, watching the crowds on the street, remarked to a regular patron: "Look, the whole city is boiling with excitement!"
The regular patron raised his beer stein and shouted back: "For the Emperor!"
Dresden received the news at 9:30 PM.
When the news spread through the crowds, Morin, in civilian clothes, and Manstein were eating sausages in a beer garden on the Lindenstraße.
Due to military discipline, they couldn't drink and had ordered only two glasses of milk, making them the only non-drinkers in the entire beer garden.
Before the news officially broke, Morin sensed that the crowds were mainly feeling a palpable sense of tension.
People gathered in small groups, talking in low voices, constantly glancing in the direction of the Dresden Royal Palace. Anxiety about the unknown was etched on every face.
The atmosphere in the beer garden was equally tense. The barkeep carefully wiped glasses, seemingly afraid of making too much noise.
"Sir, do you think the Serbians will accept?" Manstein cut a small piece of sausage and whispered.
"Absolutely not," Morin replied decisively.
He took a sip of milk and continued: "No sovereign nation can accept those terms… or rather, Vienna never intended to give them a chance to accept the terms when they drafted them."
Manstein slowed his chewing. He looked thoughtfully at Morin.
He realized that his superior always seemed to be able to predict the course of events in advance.
Just then, the beer garden door was violently pushed open. A young man rushed in, panting, waving a newly printed special evening edition of the newspaper—likely the latest publication of the night.
"They refused! Belgrade refused the ultimatum!"
His single shout instantly silenced the entire beer garden.
All movement stopped. Everyone's eyes focused on him.
Morin clearly saw that the first emotion to surface on the people's faces was a deep, primal fear.
War, a word that seemed distant in peacetime, had truly and tangibly landed heavily on everyone's hearts at that moment.
A middle-aged man's beer stein dropped to the floor with a loud 'clank,' the sound of shattering glass jarring in the silent beer garden.
However, the fear lasted for only a few seconds.
"Good! Attack! The Austrians should teach those Serbian bastards a good lesson!"
A burly man with a rough face slammed his hand on the table, spraying beer foam everywhere.
His roar was like a switch, instantly igniting the entire beer garden.
Fear was swept away by a wave of feverish, fervent excitement.
People waved their fists and shouted slogans, behaving as if it wasn't their sons, husbands, and brothers who were about to march to the battlefield, but an inconsequential public spectacle.
Morin and Manstein exchanged glances. They silently put down their knives and forks, placed money under their plates, and quickly left the now-crazed beer garden.
On the street, the scene was even more spectacular.
The crowds, who had only been whispering earlier, had now converged into an endless torrent.
Someone, taking the lead, raised the flags of the Saxon Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, cheering for the two nations' Emperors.
Then, stirring songs began to ring out. The crowds marched down the Lindenstraße, loudly singing The Watch on the Rhine.
Other citizens on the roadside stopped and applauded them. Some were so moved they shed tears and joined the parade.
Morin and Manstein said nothing, simply following the crowd.
They saw large groups of citizens spontaneously gathering near the Royal Palace, the Electors' Gate, and the Bismarck statue on the other side.
Morin noticed that most of them were young, passionate men from the middle and upper classes, generally well-dressed.
Their faces were flushed with a feverish anticipation and longing for war, as if it were a grand festival.
When the procession passed the Austro-Hungarian Embassy, the Ambassador, having received the news, personally appeared on the balcony, waving to the crowd and expressing his sincere gratitude. The Ambassador's gesture only fueled the even more fervent cheers of the crowd.
However, when the procession passed the embassies of the Gallic Republic, the Holy Britannian Empire, and the Kingdom of Serbia, the parade turned into a noisy demonstration.
Angry citizens shouted insults and threw their newspapers, hats, and even stones at the embassy buildings, only to be dispersed by military police using batons.
By the time Morin and Manstein returned to the garrison, it was past midnight.
The sentries at the camp entrance saluted them. The surrounding area was completely silent, a stark contrast to the city's commotion.
Stepping into the barracks, the usually taciturn Manstein suddenly spoke.
"Sir, I understand now why you wanted to go downtown."
His voice was hoarse from the events of the evening.
"The fervor of the citizens far exceeded our imagination."
Morin stopped and looked at him: "See? I told you I wouldn't drag you out for no reason… War is never just about the military."
With that, he walked straight to his quarters, leaving Manstein alone in the darkness, pondering the meaning of his words for a long time.
In the days that followed, Dresden, and indeed all the major cities of the Saxon and Austro-Hungarian Empires, fell into a peculiar state of intertwined euphoria and anxiety.
During the day, thousands of people gathered in the city squares and in front of government buildings, waving flags and singing patriotic songs, expressing their support for the war.
Some were genuinely excited, seeing it as a golden opportunity to assert national prestige.
Others were worried. They were mostly women of the household, queuing at bank doors.
They waited to close their accounts and exchange paper currency for gold and silver coins, which offered a sense of security, before rushing to shops to hoard any supplies they could get their hands on.
The strange, feverish behavior, the agitated expressions, and the whispers on the street all betrayed the tension of people facing the imminent threat of war.
The soaring prices and the empty shelves in shops across multiple cities were the most direct manifestations of the societal panic under the shadow of war.
(End of this Chapter)