The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

Joseph turned around and saw the butler, Clark, standing at the end of the corridor with his hands behind his back, looking arrogant.

Clark was about fifty years old, obese, bald, with a small mustache, and dressed in a black tuxedo, looking like a self-important penguin.

As the manor's steward, he wielded absolute authority among the servants. He could decide who was promoted, who was demoted, who received a raise, who had their wages deducted, and even who was dismissed. His favorite pastime was using this power to oppress those of lower status, thereby masking the fact that he himself was merely a high-ranking servant.

"Mr. Clark," Joseph bowed.

"Do you know what time it is?" Clark took out his pocket watch and checked it. "Seven fifteen. The cinders in the study should have been cleaned up before seven. You're fifteen minutes late."

"Excuse me, sir. The stables over there—"

"I don't want to hear excuses!" Clark interrupted him sharply. "Your job is to obey orders and get things done on time, not to make excuses! You're getting one shilling deducted from your paycheck this week as a lesson!"

One shilling.

For Joseph, who earned only five shillings a week, this was one-fifth of his income.

The original owner would definitely bow his head, admit his mistake, and swallow his anger.

But Joseph was not the original owner.

He slowly raised his head, calmly looking into Clark's eyes, his tone still respectful, but with a hint of deeper meaning: "I understand, sir. However... last night when I went to the wine cellar to move coal, I seemed to see you there as well. The ledger was spread out on the table, with several bottles of 1887 Bordeaux next to it. Those wines... I remember the Count said there were twelve bottles left when he took inventory last month, but the ledger says there are nine."

Clark's face froze instantly.

Joseph continued, his voice even lower, but every word was clearly heard by Clark: "Of course, I might be mistaken. After all, the wine cellar is dimly lit, and I'm just a rough man who doesn't know much about these expensive wines. But if the Earl himself were to take inventory..."

"You..." Clark's face turned bright red, his lips trembled, clearly trying his best to suppress his anger and panic.

In Edwardian manors, appropriating the owner's property was one of the most serious crimes.

If discovered, the housekeeper will not only be immediately dismissed, but may also be taken to court or even imprisoned.

For someone like Clark, once he loses this job, given his age and reputation, he will never be able to find a decent position again.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

In the corridor, only Clark's heavy breathing could be heard.

Finally, Clark awkwardly managed to squeeze out a sentence: "Fine. Since your... attitude was somewhat sincere, I'll give you a warning this time. Don't let it happen again."

"Thank you for your kindness, sir." Joseph bowed, perfectly maintaining a facade of subservience.

Clark's figure disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Joseph carried the coal bucket into the study.

***********

The study was the count's private domain, and ordinary servants rarely had the opportunity to enter.

The room was large, with bookshelves on three walls, filled with leather-bound books—mostly classical literature, history, and hunting logs, but they looked more like decorations than reading material.

An oak desk stood in front of the fireplace, with some documents and letters scattered on it.

Joseph cleaned up the cinders while glancing at the table out of the corner of his eye.

He saw a letter with the War Department's emblem printed on the paper.

He glanced at the doorway, made sure no one was there, picked up the letter, and quickly scanned its contents:

"...Given the tense situation in Europe, the Army Ministry recommends that all counties begin preparing mobilization plans...volunteer recruitment plans..."

really.

The wheels of history have begun to turn.

Less than a week remained before Britain entered the war.

Joseph put the letter back in its place and then continued cleaning the cinders as if nothing had happened.

Just then, the door was suddenly pushed open.

A young girl walked in, about sixteen or seventeen years old, wearing a maid's uniform. She had delicate features, but her eyes held a hint of timidity and humility.

That was Mary, one of the cook's assistants.

According to the original owner's memories, Mary had feelings for him, but never dared to express them.

"Joseph..." Mary said softly, her cheeks slightly flushed, "Mrs. Morris asked me to tell you that breakfast is almost over, and if you want some, hurry to the kitchen."

"Thank you, Mary." Joseph gave a gentle smile.

Mary blushed even more, lowered her head, and whispered, "Um... how have you been lately? I heard Mr. Clark is..."

"I'm fine," Joseph said gently but firmly. "Don't worry about me."

Mary nodded, then hurried away.

Joseph watched her retreating figure, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside him.

In this cruel world, girls like Mary are the most pitiful.

They had no choice, no future, and were destined to spend their lives in humility.

But Joseph couldn't save her.

He can't even save himself.

Not at least not now.

**************

Over the next few days, Joseph began his preparations in an orderly manner.

Every morning at five o'clock, while the whole manor was still asleep, he and Tom would go to the fields behind the manor to practice riding horses.

Tom brought over Old Jack, a brown draft horse, gentle in temperament, suitable for beginners.

Joseph fell three times on the first day.

The next day, he was able to sit still on horseback.

On the third day, he learned to make the horse trot.

On the fourth day, he was able to control the direction, making the horse accelerate, decelerate, and turn.

By the fifth day, he was able to maintain his balance on horseback and even control the reins with one hand.

This is not a particularly advanced horsemanship skill.

A true cavalryman can wield his saber at full speed, fire accurately from horseback, and keep his warhorse calm amidst artillery fire.

But for someone who has never even ridden a horse, this is already a huge step forward.

Tom looked at him, his eyes full of admiration: "You learn so fast. When I first learned to ride a horse, it took me two whole weeks before I dared to let it run."

"There's no other way," Joseph patted old Jack on the neck, "there's no time to learn slowly on the battlefield."

Just then, a line of semi-transparent text appeared before his eyes.

[System Prompt]

Beginner quest completed: Learn basic riding skills

Reward: 50 points

Current points: 50

Joseph glanced at the cheapest item in the system shop—50 points. Not enough. He couldn't even afford a basic skill.

However, this is only the first task.

**************

Besides riding horses, Tom also taught him how to care for them:

How to brush a horse's body, how to check its hooves, how to determine if a horse is sick, how to treat minor wounds, and how to feed and water it.

This knowledge is equally important in the military.

At the beginning of World War I, the British Expeditionary Force had approximately 100,000 horses. Cavalry, artillery, and transport units all relied heavily on horses. Soldiers who understood horses were always more valuable than those who did not.

****************

When the news arrived, Joseph was wiping the tableware in the silverware room.

It was a sweltering afternoon. The cicadas outside the window were chirping deafeningly, as if the whole summer was on fire. The silversmith's room was even hotter. There were no windows, only a dim kerosene lamp, and the air was filled with the smell of metal and polishing agents.

Joseph mechanically repeated the actions: pick up a silver fork, dip it in polishing compound, wipe it with a soft cloth until it gleamed under the light, and then put it into a velvet-lined box.

Each piece of these tableware items is extremely valuable. A set of twelve silverware for twelve people is enough to buy a working-class family's food rations for a year. And their sole purpose is for the host to show off at banquets.

"Joseph! Joseph!"

The door was flung open, and Tom rushed in, his face flushed and panting.

"Britain has declared war!"

Joseph stopped what he was doing.

"When?"

"Yesterday!" Tom waved a newspaper, the Times, which had just been delivered to the manor that afternoon. "Britain has declared war on Germany! The King gave a speech, saying he would defend Belgium's neutrality and punish Germany's aggression!"

Joseph took the newspaper and quickly scanned the headline:

Britain Enters the War! Defending Civilization Against Barbarism!

Below the bold text are excerpts from King George V's speech, a statement from Foreign Secretary Edward Gray, and an appeal from Prime Minister Asquith.

The text is filled with impassioned words: "glory," "responsibility," "justice," and "civilization."

"The Earl has summoned everyone to the hall," Tom tugged at his sleeve. "Hurry, Clark said being late will result in a deduction from our wages!"

Joseph put down his silver fork and followed Tom out of the silverware room.