The Chaos troops that arrived today are Sinspawn’s. Honestly, the Europeans’ uniforms suit them quite well—especially the soldiers now standing before Malin. They’re dressed in tricorn hats, black open-front coats with red lining, yellow shirts, broad belts, and tight white pants. They also carry rapiers, long spears, and muzzle-loading firearms. Classic 18th-century soldiers. However, Malin can’t determine who exactly they are, as their pursuit of perfection is excessive. Their attire features gold thread, ornate metal masks cover their faces, and their polished boots even reflect the line of their chins. Malin ignored these useless fools and shifted his attention to another contingent of Chaos. This group consisted of bow-legged little dwarfs dressed in yellow uniforms. Though they exuded some spirit, their stature curbed their overall presence. "Them again—the crazy yellow-skinned dwarves," the Viscount muttered with a frown. "What do you mean?" Malin asked, as he wasn’t familiar with what the Viscount meant by "yellow-skinned dwarves." "Look at them. They’re dressed in yellow military uniforms and have short statures. Though they resemble Thanan people somewhat, compare this—Mr. Meng is taller than me, yet these creatures are not Thanan at all. So I call them yellow-skinned dwarves. They’re foul-tempered, stubborn, fearless, just like the dwarves." "Don’t use the word ’dwarves’ to refer to these lunatics, though I do wonder why even they can follow that one," Malin remarked before noticing the Chaos troops preparing for an assault. Malin took out his shotgun and moved toward the defensive line’s right flank—where the crazy lunatics, murderers, and bastards were clustering to make their advance. "Have you fought these guys before?" Malin asked Old Kay, who walked ahead of his minor lord. The veteran nodded, his expression sour, as though he’d suffered losses to them: "Yes, we’ve battled them. They’re formidable opponents—sharpshooting with their firearms, speaking a language entirely alien to us, excelling in bayonet combat. A month ago, our defensive line clashed with them once. A single platoon of theirs killed almost sixty of our recruits and twenty-one seasoned soldiers—mostly during the gunfight phase. Once they breached the line, however, they couldn’t outmatch us, thanks to our shotguns." Indeed, while Arisaka rifles suffice at range, shotguns are invaluable in trenches and close quarters. They don’t even require aiming—just pull the trigger at the target. "How many shotguns do you still have?" "Around ten—forming a combat team alongside you won’t be an issue," Old Kay replied truthfully. Malin retrieved twenty M1897 shotguns from Subspace—military procurement models of the Eastern Kingdom, essentially secondhand goods replaced in their arsenal. Despite their age, they were easy to maintain and, compared to lever-action shotguns, Malin’s first choice without mobile disconnect fittings or external hammers. These shotguns were designed for trench warfare from the outset. Shooters could repeatedly cycle the foregrip while holding down the trigger, firing a shell each time the foregrip completed its motion. Thanks to their rapid firing capability, these shotguns were immensely popular in the Eastern Kingdom. With just a squad of shotgun-wielding marksmen, Eastern forces could wipe out incoming Chaos troops in their trenches. Sometimes soldiers had to use shovels to clear out the piled bodies of Chaos from the trenches. "Who’s firing the cannon? Is it us?" Behind the trench walls, the young Baron Kasdoff struggled to discern the origin and target of the cannon fire. Malin, like Old Kay, leaned against the trench’s exterior, glancing briefly skyward to verify that the Chaos artillery was firing solid rounds. "Being hit by one of those shells in the trench is like hitting the lottery," Old Kay remarked, before pushing Kasdoff against the trench wall: "Stick close, keep your head down. If a shell still manages to catch you, well, it’s fate sealing your demise." While loading shells into his rapid-reload kit, Malin looked toward Old Kay: "I recall selling you folks some cannons?" "During the last retreat, one of our Earl’s lordly superiors handed them over to Chaos—that’s the bad news," Old Kay said while jamming bullets into his belt pouch. He also shared a piece of good news: "The good news is half of those cannons have already been lost. The other half remains in our northern sector, firing the dwindling reserves at the fortress of Persotlavne." "Well, what became of the Earl himself?" Malin asked curiously. Old Kay laughed twice: "Stripped of his military rank, booted from the army, likely back to his estate now." A hint of regret touched the veteran’s face as he spoke. Malin understood exactly what the middle-aged man was implying; he clearly wanted the Earl dead. Yet, Malin lacked the authority to command the Eastern Kingdom’s gendarmes to drag the accursed Earl from his home and hang him from a lamppost. "How is he still alive?" Intrigued, Malin couldn’t resist posing the question.