Chapter 9

August 3, 1915

On the Western Front.

The stench of death was present as ever from the trenches. Rats ate at the dead bodies of countless corpses which were halfhazardly thrown into a pile in order to not clog traffic. The troops were demoralized far more than those on the eastern. Unlike the Russians, they were not given the ability to retreat, being forced to stand their ground with the anxiety of not knowing when the next gas attack would be, or when the Germans would launch an attack.

The sound of artillery sounded over head.

Areth walked through the muddy trenches, a smile present on his face as he walked by the tired, shellshocked French Soldiers. "Quite a shitty day, wouldn't you say?" Areth asked his Troops, ever single one of them holding a rag to their noses, trying to fight back the horrid smell.

"Yes, quite so, your majesty," the officer to his right responded, wearing the standard Royal Marine uniform. Areth hummed as he held his rifle, wondering about whether he could get a couple of German troops from in the trench. "Ideally, I wanted to bring the mastiff vehicles through, but the trenches are a bit too wide for the wheels to go over."

The sad reality about war was the fact that things rarely went the way they were intended to go, yet it didn't kill Areth's mood whatsoever.

Areth, using his more elderly form which was supposed to be his "dad" ordered for a good chunk of the mastiffs, and M1 Abrams tanks to deploy to the eastern front. With how little he knew about that area, due to the terrible education system from his previous life, he wanted to ensure that casualties were minimized as much as possible.

Of course, Areth could have just created entirely bulletproof armor for his soldiers, but it ruined the game.

The way he saw WW1 was like the game RUSE. It's always fun to dominate and all that, but it gets old quick. "Your Maje-" Areth interrupted him, snapping his fingers. "Formalities drop on the battlefield. Unless you intend me to get shot."

The Officer stiffened up. "No no, of course not. I would never intend for that to happen!" He quickly replied, doing his best to make his King believe him. "I know, that's why I'm warning you right now. Officers, and those of significance are oftentimes targeted first. Keep that in mind."

The regular weaponry of all the Auroan Royal Marines consisted of the M14 rifle, the 1911 pistol, and in emergency situations, a gas mask that was as reliable as the bullet-proof vests all the Marines had on.

Despite how heavy their gear looked, it was quite lightweight, with the exception of the rifles. "Hmm... I wonder, should we bring in the T1E1s? They'd be good for breaking through this trench into the next one..." The God pondered to himself, recounting one of the many strategies that involved using a tank as a shield for the infantry to move up.

It wasn't a bad plan. The casualties would be very few, and the opinion of Auroa's Marines would increase dramatically. "If they fight like how they were in training, we might even earn the title 'Teufel Hunden' before the US."

Areth turned to the nearest soldier. "Get the radio Operator, tell him to request that the reserved Marine Armored Division make their way into France, preferably to Champagne."

The Western Front was what Areth had been educated on. Waiting until the 25th of September to Launch an attack on the Germans was far too long for someone as impatient as Areth.

"Yes, Sir," the soldier nodded, quickly making his way through the mud to go to the radio operator as instructed. "General Arlow, tell the men to prepare themselves to charge. We will wait for our heavy armor to arrive, and will fall in behind each vehicle, using it as cover. Make sure all personnel know," Areth instructed the Brigadier General, before departing, leaving himself some time alone.

Despite the fact that Areth had allied with well, the Allies, he did not care about the suffering of the French soldiers, nor did he try and help. War was war. He wouldn't hold their hands, even if he could supply the entire country with food, water, and proper fortifications. He was a God of Chaos, who did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted because no one, not Alaya, nor Gaia, Zeus, nor Shiva could stop him. That was how powerful he truly was.

"I guess I'll go check out the German's trenches," Areth said to himself, before separating his spirit from his physical body.

Flying through the air, Areth's spirit investigated the enemy trenches, seeing slightly better setups, with wood planks on the floor with drainage holes to prevent trench foot, and well dug bunkers, however, that wasn't what he was really looking for.

He was searching for people of importance, alongside any gear that his forces could commandeer. After floating around the trenches, which stretched for miles, he had counted seven officers in total.

He returned to his physical body shortly after, accomplishing a small, but important task. "Wellz I guess it's just about patience now," he told himself, before sitting down next to a tired, mud-covered soldier.

"Avez-vous déjà entendu la tragédie de Darth Plagueis le sage?"