The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

All the manor's servants had already gathered in the hall.

More than twenty people stood in two rows, male servants on the left and female servants on the right, with Clark standing at the very front, his expression so serious it was as if he were about to announce the end of the world.

Footsteps could be heard coming from the main staircase.

Everyone immediately straightened their backs and lowered their heads.

The Earl of Exeter descended the stairs.

This was the first time Joseph had seen the owner of the manor up close.

The count was about fifty-five years old, tall but slightly overweight, with a neatly trimmed gray beard, wearing a Scottish tweed suit, and carrying an ivory cane—purely decorative, as he did not need a cane to walk.

A typical Edwardian aristocrat: dignified, imposing, and confident, with an innate sense of superiority, as if the whole world should serve him.

Behind the count were his wife and three children.

The countess was a thin woman, dressed in an expensive silk gown and a pearl necklace, with a haughty and aloof expression.

The two daughters, aged sixteen and fourteen, wore lace dresses and looked like two proud little peacocks.

She also has a son.

Alfred Exeter, 23 years old, graduated from Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, currently a second lieutenant in the Army.

He was wearing a brand-new officer's uniform: a khaki jacket, gold epaulettes, and gleaming leather boots. A sword hung at his waist, its hilt inlaid with the family crest.

Handsome, tall, and full of vigor, he looked just like the ideal officer in a recruitment poster.

But what Joseph saw was a spoiled nobleman.

Alfred's eyes lacked the calmness and composure of a soldier, displaying only the arrogance and excitement of youth.

When his gaze swept over the servants, there was an unintentional indifference, not deliberate contempt, but a deep-rooted sense of class distance.

"Gentlemen," the Earl began in a deep voice, standing halfway up the stairs, "I think you've all heard. Today, the British Empire has declared war on the German Empire. This is a just war, and a war we will surely win. We will defend Belgium's neutrality, uphold the dignity of civilization, and show those barbaric Germans what happens when they challenge the British Empire."

He paused, looked around at everyone, and his tone became solemn:

"My son, Alfred, has decided to join the British Expeditionary Force and go to the French front. As the heir to the House of Exeter, he will fulfill his noble duty and fight for the King and the country. I am proud of him."

Alfred stepped forward, slightly raised his chin, surveyed the room, and wore a reserved smile.

"Furthermore," the Earl continued, "if any eligible men among you wish to join the army, the manor will provide support. Those who volunteer will have their families continue to receive half of their pay during their service. After their discharge, they can return to the manor to continue working."

These words caused a stir.

The maids whispered among themselves, while the male servants looked at each other in bewilderment.

Half a salary? That's quite a temptation. Especially for young people with family responsibilities, joining the army not only provides military pay, but also ensures continued income for their families—it's practically double protection.

“Of course,” the Earl said, changing the subject, “I hope you will consider this carefully before making your decision. War is not child’s play; it requires courage and sacrifice. But I believe that the servants of Exeter Manor are all loyal and brave.”

After saying this, he turned and went upstairs, with his wife and children following behind, leaving a group of servants whispering in the hall.

Clark clapped his hands: "Everyone, disperse! Go do what you were doing! Stop chatting here!"

The crowd slowly dispersed, but the atmosphere had changed.

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

That evening, the kitchen became the center of information exchange.

After dinner, the servants gathered around the long table in the kitchen, drinking weak tea and discussing the war.

"I heard the government gives those who join the army seven shillings a week," a young male servant said excitedly. "That's much better than being here!"

"But people will die," the old gardener said with a grim face. "During the Boer War, five young men from our village went there, but only two came back—one blind and the other with a broken leg."

"That was the Boer War, this is different!" the man retorted. "The newspapers say the Germans are easily defeated, and the war will be over before Christmas!"

"The newspapers even said Queen Victoria would live to be a hundred," the old gardener sneered. "And what happened?"

The cook was slicing bread by the stove, her knife slamming against the cutting board as if venting some kind of emotion.

"It's all a politician's trick," she said through gritted teeth. "They sit in their London offices, drinking red wine, signing a document, and sending hundreds of thousands of young people to their deaths."

"Mrs. Maurice!" Clark's shrill voice rang out. "Watch your words! This is disloyalty!"

The cook turned around and glared at him: "Disloyalty? My son has served in the navy for three years, and every time he goes to sea, I worry he won't come back. Now that the war has started, he'll definitely be going to the front lines. My worry for my own son, is that disloyalty?"

Clark was speechless, his face turning bright red.

The atmosphere became tense for a moment.

Tom broke the silence: "I think... joining the army isn't a bad thing. At least we can do something for our country, instead of spending our whole lives here as servants to others."

"Well said!" the male servant chimed in. "I've had enough of scrubbing toilets every day! Wearing a uniform and carrying a gun makes me a real man!"

"He looks more like a dead man," the old gardener muttered.

"What did you say?!"

"Enough!" The cook slammed her knife down on the cutting board with a loud crash. "Shut up, all of you! If you want to go die, go ahead and do it yourselves. Don't make a scene here!"

She grabbed the bread, slammed it onto the plate, and turned to walk into the pantry.

Joseph heard her sobbing softly inside.

He looked around at the people—some excited, some worried, some confused, some angry. The manor had already fallen apart before the war had even truly begun.

"Joseph," Tom nudged his arm, "what do you think?"

"What?"

"Joining the army? Will you go?"

Joseph looked at Tom's expectant eyes, paused for a second, and then nodded: "Yes."

"Great!" Tom excitedly grabbed his hand. "Let's do it together!"

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

A few days later, Exeter Manor hosted a farewell banquet for Alfred, inviting all the nobles in the vicinity, and it is said that even the Sheriff attended.

Joseph, dressed in a formal servant's uniform, stood in a corner of the banquet hall, ready to pour drinks and serve food at any time.

Laughter filled the banquet hall.

"Alfred, I heard you're going to France? That's brave!" A stout knight raised his glass. "My son wants to go too, but I told him to wait; the battlefield is still a bit dangerous."

"You're too cautious, Sir," Alfred said confidently. "I'm more worried that if I arrive too late, the battle will be over!"

Everyone laughed.

"That's right! The Germans are utterly vulnerable! One of our divisions could wipe out three of them!"

"Just wait and see, that clown Kaiser will soon be kneeling and begging for mercy!"

Laughter and the clinking of glasses echoed through the banquet hall.

Joseph stood in the corner, watching all of this with a blank expression.

These people treated war like a game. They didn't know that the Somme River would swallow 60,000 lives in a single day, that Verdun would crush 700,000 people into flesh and blood, and that the mud in the trenches would be more brutal than any nightmare.

The sheriff raised his glass: "To Alfred! To the British Empire! To victory!"

"For victory!"

Everyone stood up and clinked their glasses, the crystal glasses making a crisp, tinkling sound.

Joseph silently retreated to a corner.

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

That evening, Joseph returned to the attic, closed the door, and sat on the bed.

Outside the window, moonlight spilled onto the lawn of the manor, and everything seemed so peaceful.

But he knew that this tranquility wouldn't last long.

[System Notification]

New task has been released:

Mission objective: Join the British Expeditionary Force

Task Reward: 50 points

Joseph read the mission instructions, pondering the situation.

With the 50-point reward, plus the 50 points you already have, you can get a total of 100 points.

100 points are not enough to buy any items in the system shop yet.

However, judging from the system's task release schedule, there should be more tasks to come.

Joseph roughly estimated that if the mission rewards remained at this level, the points would soon accumulate to 200.

With 200 points, he can purchase some basic skills or basic medical kits, which can greatly improve his survival rate on the battlefield.

More importantly, he had an advantage that others didn't: he came from the modern era and was a military history enthusiast. He had a wealth of tactical knowledge and historical lessons from World War I stored in his mind.

He knew the brutality of trench warfare, how to deal with poison gas attacks, which battles were meat grinders, and when to avoid direct confrontation. If used properly, this knowledge from the future might allow him to find a way to survive in this doomed war.

But all of this is predicated on one thing—survival.

Survive first, then we'll talk about everything else.

Joseph opened his eyes and looked out the window.

The lights in the manor gradually went out, leaving only a few scattered lights still on.

He must make the most of every minute to learn more skills.

Because he doesn't have much time left.