The office was lit by the steady glow of electric lamps, yet the calm was only an illusion. Beyond the walls of the headquarters, the distant thunder of artillery drills and the marching of restless soldiers served as a reminder that the world was standing on the edge of war.
A large map was spread across the wooden desk, covered in scribbled supply lines, border marks, and red dots marking enemy positions. Every line drawn was a fragile thread that could unravel into total destruction at any moment.
Aleric Nachtmann, sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the map. His hands rested calmly, his face unreadable—but his mind was a storm of calculations. He knew… it would take only a single spark, a reckless order, to ignite a world war.
The door creaked open. A young officer rushed in, his face pale, his breath quick, sweat dripping down his temple. He saluted sharply.
"Forgive the interruption, General. Orders from central command have arrived. You are to lead the strike at the border. The troops are awaiting your command."
Aleric's eyes stayed on the map for a long, heavy moment. The ticking clock on the wall sounded like the countdown of a bomb. Finally, he spoke—his voice calm but cutting like steel:
"Deploy Divisions 3, 68, and 34 to the front. Keep Artillery Division 21 within firing range."
"Yes, General!" The officer saluted again, then hurried out, his footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.
Silence fell once more, but now it weighed like a burden. Aleric understood: if this battle began, there would be no turning back. The world would fall into full-scale war.
Then suddenly—the entire headquarters shook violently, as if struck by an earthquake. The lamps flickered, books tumbled from their shelves, and the map ripped from the wall. Aleric barely had time to reach for his cap before a blinding white light engulfed the room, swallowing everything.
When he opened his eyes again, the tremors were gone. In their place was a dense forest, the chill of wind, the smell of damp earth… and beyond the trees, a vast grassland stretching to the horizon.
His desk lay in the grass beside him, impossibly carried into this strange land. Calm but alert, Aleric opened the bottom drawer—and found his old pistol, the Luger P08, cold and solid in his grip, waiting to be used once more.
His eyes narrowed, sharp with caution.
This world—unknown, uncharted on any map—was now his battlefield.
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